Marco - The Boss - Blurb & Prologue
One hot new mafia boss, one beautiful accountant, and a love affair that could destroy them both.
Marlon Brando started my love of it, so after years of obsessing over mafia fiction, and the facts, that dark history of beautiful Italy, I’m finally writing my own take on mafia romance.
I’m writing here in Substack so yes, you guessed it, you get it first as exclusive content.
You can even throw ideas at me for improvements or just to say what you love or don’t.
To protect my IP, my books mostly fall behind the paywall. But that costs less than a coffee a month, so think about subscribing and joining me there.
Also, my paying members will get the option to download a copy of the book before publication day.
Spoiler Alert!
Before you read this, you might want to read the prequel
Rocco - The Don
A mafia don, a beautiful student architect and a love no one approves of, not even themselves.
The book will be on pre-order very soon! Promise!
Marco - The Boss - Blurb
One hot new mafia boss, one beautiful accountant, and a love affair that could destroy them both.
Marco
I’ve taken over the family business.
My father and sister are dead, and someone has to step up.
First, I need to find out who betrayed them.
Second, I need to know who the stunning woman is at the grave side, because the moment I saw her, I knew I’d marry her.
Isabella
I’ve worked hard to build a career on my own terms.
No drama. No dating. Just focus.
Then a new client appoints me on a simple job, but dies before he can explain.
Now the FBI wants answers.
And so does his son, the new mafia boss.
He’s everything I swore I’d avoid.
But I can’t walk away. I think it’s already too late.
Things just got messy.
The De Luca London Legacy series - Book One
Mafia fiction, age gap, steamy, spicy romance, mentions of violence, discretion advised
Daizy Dennis Books - Delicious Desires
Marco - The Boss
Prologue - Rocco
The espresso burned my tongue, but I sipped it anyway. Black, no sugar, just the way my Apollonia loathed it.
Forty-five years of marriage, and she still sneaked a little of her own inherent sweetness into my mug when I wasn’t looking.
That night, she was already in bed. Our bed. The one where we had created our family, where arguments had turned into intimate reconciliations, where we’d weathered the years together, growing old beneath the same roof.
I should have joined her hours ago, but the betrayal taunted me. A demon had crept into the heart of our family. Someone close. Too close.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Lucia, my gloriously stubborn daughter, stood at the door. Her fiery spirit shone through those dark eyes. My beautiful cat lady. She was me, in feminine form.
I laughed. She looked, smiled, shook her head. Even at forty, still unmarried despite my suggestions, her devotion to the family and the family business consumed her.
The ache of her spinsterhood had once stung. Not anymore. She embodied loyalty, and in that, I took comfort.
‘Papa, the table is booked. We have twenty minutes. We should go.’
She was right.
The office awaited, and my son and heir, Marco, needed answers. I gathered the damning papers, tucked them into my briefcase, and together we stepped out into the night.
Raindrops splattered against the bulletproof glass of the waiting Bentley, each one a reminder of the day’s inevitable toll on my tired joints.
My security team flanked us, their steps synchronised. That familiar, calculated precision that had kept danger at bay over the long years.
Inside the sanctuary of our home, I left my Apollonia, safe and warm. I wanted to believe I’d done enough to shield her from this world, though I carried the weight of her aging mind in my heart.
We used to joke that together, we were whole. In truth, it felt increasingly like a delicate balance of fading light and enveloping shadow. Old age proving crueller than any of my enemies.
In the car, I traced my fingertip over the inscription on my wedding ring. Famiglia davanti al mondo. Family before the world. Apollonia wore the same words, a testament to our shared vow.
My phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A text from Marco.
‘All clear in London. Flying home tomorrow.’
My boy. My heir. The weight of responsibility had rested on him for longer than either of us had wished.
As the Bentley glided through the empty streets, the numbers blurred again, exhaustion creeping deeper into my bones. Something was off. A gnawing premonition clawed at my insides, a familiar feeling echoing the tense hours leading up to that fateful hit back in ’82.
I wanted to be home. Sitting in my window seat, my wife’s now delicate, gnarled hand in mine.
A sound pulled me from my thoughts. A high-pitched whine, sharp and unnatural, from beneath us.
'Papa?'
Lucia’s voice trembled as her hand found mine. Her other hand clutched the kitten in her lap, another offspring of the long-running family.
I looked across, saw the dread in her eyes maturing into understanding. An awareness that something was amiss.
Before I could respond, the world erupted around us. The explosion detonated with a ferocity that stole my breath.
Fire bloomed, engulfing us, and for the most fleeting moment, time suspended itself, distorting the rain into searing steam.
In a final flash of pure white-hot clarity, the weight of the betrayal settled heavily in my chest.
Family before the world.
How bitterly those words echoed in my mind now.
My last thought was not one of fear, but of desperate prayer.
Stay away, my son. Stay in London.
Live to make them pay.
And just like that, the darkness closed in, merciless and final. The fire took us, but the vow remained.
Perhaps even stronger.
See you soon, Apollonia, my love.