Violent Delights (White Monarch #1) by Jessica Hawkins
In the de la Rosa family, old grudges run deeper than loyalty, and betrayal is a three-letter word: war. But this feud isn’t between enemies. It’s between brothers. And I’m the prize.
I was born a princess among criminals. An untouchable among thieves. Heiress to a life others have killed for, and one I’d do anything to escape. I vowed not to leave without Diego, my first love and best friend, but if his ruthless brother has his way, I won’t leave at all. Cristiano de la Rosa is a man as big and bold as his legend. Once upon a time, he was our cartel’s best soldier . . . until he became my family’s worst enemy.
A man like Cristiano will bend fate to his will to get what he wants. Even if it means dragging me to hell—and tearing me from his brother’s arms.
“She is mine.”
Three words from two different men.
A life, future, and love I don’t get to choose.
Excerpt Violent Delights (White Monarch #1) by Jessica Hawkins
Diego rubbed his jaw, plotting his route through the costume party to get to me. He’d be blamed if we were caught together. That didn’t stop my craving to feel his lips on mine. He started toward me, but after only a few steps, my father appeared, slapped him on the back, and pulled him away to introduce him to a couple.
I moved through the crowd, catching and losing Diego’s gaze as people passed between us. He shook the hand of an Elvis impersonator as I ducked by a man in a toga. He kissed Catwoman’s cheek but winked at me. I touched my neck in mock-offense and stopped short of face-planting into a wall of a security guard.
“Perdón,” I said as I went to go around the man.
The guard moved to block me, and in an instant, the energy around me shifted. I tilted my head back until I was looking straight up at a monster of a man and into the face of a ghoulish black-and-white skull. The blackened eye sockets, rimmed in deep red, didn’t hide the menacing way his eyes focused on me. Nor did the drawn-on teeth, shaped in a sinister grin, disguise his frown—or the flawless bone structure beneath his veneer. Raven-black hair had been slicked back, as stark against the chalky face paint as his tie cutting down the center of a pressed white dress shirt.
Standing as still and straight-backed as a mannequin, and looking as polished as one too, he inclined his head toward me. “May I have this dance?”