Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
He’s my brother’s best friend… and now the only man who can save me.
Damian Vitale, cold, scarred, and terrifyingly loyal, is the mafia’s most feared enforcer.
I was just the nurse who patched him up.
The girl who loved Christmas.
The sister he should’ve never touched.
Then I stumble into a secret trafficking ring,
and the Beast tears the city apart to drag me back from hell.
Now I’m hiding in his home, sleeping in his bed,
and watching the man who hates Christmas become the only thing I can’t live without.
This holiday, the Beast isn’t stealing Christmas, he’s claiming me.
Reader’s A full length steamy Christmas mafia romance featuring a brother’s best friend, grumpy x sunshine tension, a protective obsessive enforcer, forced proximity, high stakes, and an HEA. No cheating. Plenty of heat
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
CELINE
Iwalk out of the hospital, the stress of the day clinging to me. I graduated as a nurse a year ago, and each day still feels like an adventure. An adventure with about a million potential hazards and opportunities for error…
But hey, it’s still fun. Sometimes.
At least I know I’m making a difference, and that’s what keeps me showing up.
I walk toward my car, the air already laced with ice and a hint of snow. It’s late October, almost time for Halloween. Someone’s car has pumpkin stickers scattered across the windshield, a tiny reminder of the season.
Climbing in, I crank up the heat and close my eyes, trying to let the day slide off me. Trying being the keyword.
Christmas will be here soon—my favorite time of year, hands down. Cheesy movies, decorations, way too much food… I fully accept my future holiday food coma.
My cell phone rings. I dig it out of my handbag. It’s Julian, my big brother. He’s not usually a call type of guy. Texts are more his thing—short, efficient, borderline abrupt.
“Hey,” I say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
His voice is ice when he speaks. “I’m going to give you an address. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“What?”
“Do you have a pen and—”
“I can write on my phone,” I snap, irritated without knowing exactly why.
Maybe it’s because of that shadowy part of Julian’s life I pretend not to notice, the one full of questions he’ll never answer.
He spits out the address. I punch it into my GPS.
“Why am I going to a dive bar at the edge of town?” I ask.
“Someone needs your help. Your expertise. Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Yes, Julian. What the hell is this?”
“Just come. Please.”
He hangs up. Crap.
What choice do I have?
I start the car.
The bar is the very definition of ramshackle. Peeling paint, sagging wood, a flickering sign with a crow so faded it looks more like a smudge than a bird.
Julian meets me in the entranceway that reeks of whiskey and damp. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, voice tight. My brother usually dresses like an accountant—pressed shirts, neat hair, everything in place.
Now his expression is ash. His shirt is torn. There’s blood smeared along his neck as if someone grabbed him.
Panic rises in my voice. “What’s happening?”
Julian takes my hands and looks at me with glittering eyes, as though he might break down in tears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t explain. You need to tend to Damian’s wounds. He’s got a flesh wound in his arm and a gash on his face. Can you do it?”
My pulse stutters, and sweat beads all over my body, making my already dirty scrubs feel even grosser. “Duh-Damian?”
Julian takes my hand. “Come on. Please.”
“This is it,” I whisper. “Where you go when you sneak around. Why you’re always acting secretive and dodging my questions.”
“No,” he snarls. “It isn’t. Damian needs us. Please. Just do this–then forget it ever happened.”
How am I supposed to do that?
As Julian leads me down a narrow corridor, I think of the last time I saw his best friend. It was a couple of years ago—Julian’s birthday. Another part of his life he keeps carefully walled off.
I remember Damian standing poolside with a sour expression, hair perfect, arms crossed, refusing to swim because God forbid he look like he was having fun. He scanned the party like he was deciding whether to punch someone or disappear.
Now he sits on a stool, leaning against the bar, a bloody towel pressed to his arm. A cut slices across his cheek. He looks even bigger than before—shoulders broad enough to block out half the room, stuffed into a shirt that’s ripped and stained. His severe eyes turn to me slowly.
“What is she doing here?” he growls.
And just like that, I remember my crush.
Not a crush-crush. Nothing crazy. But at that party, when he was all broody and shirtless? Yeah, something in me trembled—just a tiny fault line I’d never let turn into an earthquake.
“We need to make sure the wound on your arm is nothing to worry about,” Julian says. “And that cut on your face needs tending to. Let her help.”
Damian locks me in his gaze. “Does she know?” he asks Julian.
“No,” Julian replies. “And we’re keeping it that way.”
I spin on him. Partly with anger. Partly because Damian’s eyes make my knees feel unreliable. I’m tired after a long shift. Sleep-deprived. And the last thing I need is the distraction of those impossibly dark, broody eyes.
“Stop talking about me like I’m not right here,” I snap.
Julian drags a hand through his hair, wrecking the neatness he always clings to. The sight alone tells me how bad this really is.
“Please,” he says, his voice breaking.
I turn back to Damian. “I’ll help. But if you won’t give me answers, at least do me the courtesy of not insulting me by talking about me like I’m some kid.”