

Posy
When I fell for Dario Volpe, I thought he was Prince Charming, and I was the luckiest girl alive. He didn’t care about my past. The talk. The stain on my family’s reputation.
Then he saw something I never wanted anyone to see.
He cares now.
This isn’t a breakup, it’s a warning shot, and if I want to get out of this bad romance alive, I have to run and never look back.
Dario Volpe is no storybook hero. He’s a psychopath, and he can’t decide—kiss me? Or kill me?
Dario
I’m the man behind the curtain, the power behind the throne. I could have killed her, and no one would have blinked an eye. Posy Santoro isn’t exactly a mafia princess.
No one sees her as clearly as I can—the perfect mind hidden by the knockout body in the tight dress.
I’ve made a mistake, running her off, but now I get to play one of my favorite games.
Posy can run, but she isn’t made to be free. She’s made for me. And when I catch her? Game over.


His voice echoes against the darkened buildings. My heart leaps into my throat. Driven by instinct, I bolt, rubber soles slapping the pavement.
He’s singing now, soft and deep as his heavy steps pound behind me. Run, run, run—you’d better run.
I already am. I’m sprinting as fast as I can toward home, hair whipping my cheeks, the night air burning my lungs.
A laugh rings out in the empty street. He’s close. How did he get so close?
I part my lips to scream, and that fast, an arm snakes around my waist and a rough palm covers my mouth.
“Got you,” he says, his breath hot on my ear, and for just a second, my traitor body melts into his hard chest, my fear catching fire and flaring into something else, an unbearable anticipation that crystalizes into horror as he drawls, “Now what am I going to do with you, you naughty girl?”

Along with stories, she’s collected a husband and three children along the way. She lives in Baltimore when she’s not exploring America with the family. #allfiftystates