Everyone in the city knows who I am: Vincent Citrione, top capo of the most powerful crime family in the city. If you’ve got two brain cells to rub together, you’re scared sh*tless of me. As for women, I give them the hardest, dirtiest f*ck of their lives before showing them the door. They know better than to expect more. Commitments? F*ck ‘em. At least, that was my motto until I caught her snooping in the wrong place at the wrong time. Aubriella. I wanted her to be like all the rest of the girls. I wanted to forget her. But I can’t forget her lush curves...

I’d never forgotten him - a man I’d yet to meet. Griffin Quinn was my childhood pen pal, the British boy who couldn’t have been more different from me. Over the years, through hundreds of letters, we became best friends, sharing our deepest, darkest secrets and forming a connection I never thought could break. Until one day it did. Then, out of the blue, a new letter arrived. A scathing one - one with eight years of pent-up anger. I had no choice but to finally come clean as to why I stopped writing. Griffin forgave me, and we were able to rekindle our childhood connection.

I warned you. I told you not to set foot in my casino again. I told you to stay away. Because if I see those hips swinging around my suite, I’ll pin you against the wall and take you hard. And once I make you mine, I’m not going to set you free. I’m king of the Vegas underground, and I take what I want. So run. Stay the hell away from my casino. Or I’ll tie you to my bed. Put you on your knees. Break you. So come to me, beautiful, if you dare....

Derrick "The Love Whisperer" King gives out relationship and sex advice on the radio to everyone, but he’s giving me something a bit more personal. Nobody’s ever talked to me the way he does. Daring, demanding, sexy...and oh, so dirty. Maybe we started this whole thing a little backward, sex first and getting to know each other after. But I'm starting to let my guard down, my untrusting heart beginning to think that maybe fairy tales do come true. Even for me.

It all started with a contract signed by him, then by me, while our families watched. While my father sat silent, a man defeated, giving his daughter to the Benedetti monsters. I obeyed. I played my part. I signed my name and gave away my life. I became their living, breathing trophy, a constant symbol of their power over us. That was five years ago. Then came the time for him to claim me. For Salvatore Benedetti to own me. I had vowed vengeance. I had learned hate. And yet nothing could have prepared me for the man who now ruled my life.