Filthy Secrets
A Steamy Romance Boxset Collection
Nova Rain
Contents
FREE Bonus Gift For You
Mob Ties: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The PREQUEL)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Mob Ties: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Guardians From Hell Book 1)
1. Michael
2. Michelle
3. Joe
4. Joe
5. Michelle
6. Joe
7. Michelle
8. Joe
9. Michelle
10. Joe
11. Joe
12. Michelle
13. Michelle
14. Joe
15. Joe
16. Michelle
17. Joe
18. Michelle
19. Joe
20. Michelle
21. Joe
22. Michelle
23. Joe
24. Michelle
25. Michelle
26. Joe
27. Joe
28. Michelle
29. Michelle
30. Joe
31. Michelle
32. Joe
33. Joe
34. Michelle
35. Joe
36. Joe
37. Joe
38. Michelle
39. Joe
40. Joe
41. Joe
42. Michelle
43. Michelle
44. Joe
45. Joe
46. Michelle
47. Joe
48. Michelle
49. Joe
50. Michelle
51. Joe
52. Joe
53. Michelle
54. Michelle
55. Joe
56. Joe
57. Michelle
58. Joe
59. Michelle
60. Joe
61. Michelle
62. Joe
63. Michelle
64. Joe
65. Michelle
66. Michelle
67. Joe
68. Joe
69. Michelle
70. Michelle
71. Joe
72. Michelle
73. Joe
74. Joe
75. Michelle
76. Joe
77. Joe
78. Joe
79. Michelle
80. Joe
81. Joe
82. Joe
83. Michelle
Mob Lust A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Guardians From Hell Book 2
1. Donny
2. Ava
3. Donny
4. Donny
5. Ava
6. Donny
7. Ava
8. Ava
9. Donny
10. Ava
11. Donny
12. Ava
13. Donny
14. Ava
15. Ava
16. Donny
17. Donny
18. Ava
19. Donny
20. Ava
21. Donny
22. Ava
23. Donny
24. Ava
25. Donny
26. Donny
27. Ava
28. Donny
29. Donny
30. Ava
31. Donny
32. Donny
33. Ava
Fight or Flight: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (Hate To Love You Book 1)
1. Jake
2. Penny
3. Jake
4. Penny
5. Jake
6. Penny
7. Jake
8. Penny
9. Jake
10. Penny
11. Penny
12. Jake
13. Penny
14. Jake
15. Penny
16. Jake
17. Penny
18. Jake
19. Jake
20. Jake
21. Penny
22. Jake
23. Penny
24. Jake
25. Penny
26. Jake
27. Penny
28. Jake
29. Jake
30. Penny
31. Jake
32. Penny
33. Penny
34. Penny
35. Penny
36. Penny
Free Flight: A Secret Bad Boy Romance (Hate To Love You Book 2)
1. Michael
2. Ava
3. Michael
4. Ava
5. Ava
6. Michael
7. Ava
8. Michael
9. Ava
10. Ava
11. Ava
12. Michael
13. Michael
14. Ava
15. Michael
16. Michael
17. Ava
18. Ava
19. Michael
20. Ava
21. Ava
22. Ava
23. Ava
24. Ava
25. Michael
26. Ava
27. Ava
28. Michael
29. Ava
30. Michael
31. Ava
32. Michael
33. Ava
Love Technically: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (The PREQUEL)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Love Technically: An Alpha Billionaire Romance
1. Rosanna
2. Chris
3. Rosanna
4. Chris
5. Rosanna
6. Chris
7. Rosanna
8. Chris
9. Rosanna
10. Chris
11. Rosanna
12. Chris
13. Rosanna
14. Chris
15. Rosanna
16. Rosanna
17. Chris
18. Rosanna
19. Rosanna
20. Chris
21. Rosanna
22. Chris
23. Rosanna
24. Chris
25. Rosanna
26. Chris
27. Rosanna
28. Chris
29. Chris
30. Rosanna
31. Chris
Racing Hearts: A Medical Romance
1. Sean
2. Monica
3. Sean
4. Monica
5. Sean
6. Monica
7. Sean
8. Monica
9. Sean
10. Monica
11. Sean
12. Monica
13. Monica
14. Sean
15. Monica
16. Sean
17. Sean
18. Monica
19. Sean
20. Monica
21. Sean
22. Monica
23. Sean
24. Monica
25. Sean
26. Monica
27. Sean
28. Monica
29. Sean
30. Sean
31. Sean
32. Monica
Review This Book
FREE Bonus Gift For You
Connect With Nova Rain
More Books By Nova Rain
Audiobooks By Nova Rain
FREE Bonus Gift For You
Sign up to my mailing list to receive this FREE Mafia Romance PREQUEL entitled “Mob Ties: A Mafia Romance PREQUEL” as well as to be notified on any new releases, giveaways, contests, cover reveals and so much more!
Click here to sign up for Nova Rain mailing list.
Mob Ties: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The PREQUEL)
Chapter One
Twelve Years Ago
“Be careful out there, child. Good luck.”
These were Sister Mary Alice’s last words on that July morning. She and her fellow nuns walked me to the gate of St. Francis’s orphanage, all teary-eyed and wearing bitter smiles. Behind them, my friends were sniffling and waving “goodbye” to me. Everywhere I looked, I saw their sad little faces, shedding tears for their “big brother” as they liked to call me. It broke my heart. I used to see all those kids happy. Their laughter used to echo through our dorms. In those moments, none of us seemed to care that we had grown up without any parents around. I would miss them, but there wasn’t much I could do. I was eighteen years old, and I had to leave the orphanage.
Despite the memories and our tearful “goodbye” though, a big part of me was thrilled. For the first time in my life, I would be out in the real world. I could go anywhere and do anything, without worrying about any punishment from nuns or priests. I would be living in a fantasy. Just like Jon Bon Jovi in “Wanted Dead or Alive,” I would be walking the streets of the big city, with a guitar on my back. I also had a few bucks in my pocket, courtesy of Sister Mary Alice. For months, she’d kept trying to tell me that the world outside the walls of the orphanage was tough, especially for a kid like me. She warned me of pitfalls and hardships that might come along the way. One of her most common lines was:
“People can be vicious, son. They will try to exploit you; make no mistake about it.”
To me, her advice sounded more like an attempt to make me stay on God’s path. What she didn’t know, was that I had been sick and tired of that path. I didn’t want to be humble. I wanted to grab life by the balls, enjoy what those so-called sinners did. I didn’t wish to kill anybody, but I was sure there was more to life than just prayer, fasting, and good manners.
My first taste of reality was pretty good. On the train to Manhattan, lights and underground walls just blurred past, leading me to what I considered the best part of New York City. I’d been there once on a field trip. It might have been four years ago, but I could still remember the endless shops in the downtown area. Most of them were twice as big as the orphanage itself. People were pouring in and strolling out with bags in their hands. Yet, this wasn’t what had struck me most about that borough. That had actually been Central Park. Why? Because it was a huge park in the heart of the city. I didn’t even know it was possible to have something like that in the Big Apple. I’d read about it, but descriptions and pictures weren’t the same as being in it. For an orphan like me, it was heaven on earth: open space; lots and lots of greenery, including bushes and towering trees; joggers’ chatter. In truth, it was everything I couldn’t have at Saint Francis’s.
But, after a week, I realized how wrong I’d been. I was flat-broke. When you can’t afford basic things like food and water, it doesn’t matter where you are. Your growling stomach makes everything seem secondary; annoying even. People’s chatter bothered me, because no one seemed to be paying attention to a poor kid playing the guitar. They just looked the other way, ignoring any tunes coming out of my mouth. I was both invisible and inaudible to them.
On the morning of the eighth day, I pulled my guitar out of its case, crazy thoughts running through my mind. If I attacked someone, they’d call the police. There was a good chance I would spend the night in a cell, but at least the cops would give me something to eat. I eased the instrument onto my lap and left the open case at my feet. Swallowing hard, I took the pick between my thumb and index finger. With my mouth already dry in the blazing heat, I began to strum the intro of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” I kept my eyes down on the brown fabric of the case, a voice inside complaining at the thought of playing and singing. The pennies and quarters people were throwing in, weren’t enough for a decent meal. I made four or five dollars a day, which would buy me a lousy hotdog and a small bottle of water.
As I reached the chorus, the view of a bill landing in the case forced me to slam my fingers onto the strings and stare at it in disbelief. The number “50” was on each one of its four corners. President Ulysses S. Grant’s picture was in the middle. Before I could speak, I noticed a pair of black shiny saddle shoes, just an inch from the guitar case. Lifting my gaze up, I saw their owner. An old man in a beige suit and a red tie was smiling down at me, wrinkles forming across his forehead. Someone much younger was on his right, wearing a black suit. That guy had to be my height. His muscles were stretching the sleeves of his jacket to their limit.
“Morning, kid,” the old man spoke in a nasal voice. “Don’t mind me. Keep playing.”
“Did you just leave me fifty bucks?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Yep,” he said with a nod.
“What for?”
“To enjoy your company,” he explained, still wearing that smile.
“Take that money and shove it up your ass, you faggot,” I groaned, gripping the neck of my guitar.
“Faggot?!” The guy behind him growled, stepping in front of the old man. “I’m going to teach you some manners, you little piece of shit!”
I jumped up, watching him jerking his arm back. But, just when he was about to punch me, the old man thrust his arm up and caught his wrist in mid-air.
“Don’t,” he commanded, his smile disappearing all of a sudden. “How many times do I have to tell you to use your head? Look at him, Greg. He’s perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” I wondered, raising my voice.
“Put that thing down and we’ll talk,” the old man requested, shifting his gaze back up to mine.
“No can do,” I shook my head sideways. “How do I know your goon here won’t try to hit me again?”
“He won’t,” he assured me, shoving Greg’s arm back.
“Alright,” I nodded in agreement, easing the guitar down onto the bench.
“You don’t know who I am,” he stated next, relaxing his posture. “It’s funny, because the whole city does. Are you from out of town, kid?”
“No,” I spoke in a calmer voice. “I was released from St. Francis’s orphanage eight days ago. My name’s Joe. Joe Mancini.”
“I’m Thomas Santone,” he introduced himself, reaching out for a handshake. I wrapped my fingers around his, without taking my eyes off his goon. “Strong grip. I like that. When was the last time you ate, Joe?”
“Last night,” I muttered, dragging my gaze away from Greg.
“What did you eat?” Santone asked, his voice gaining in volume.
“A hotdog,” I replied, my tone weakening.
“Hotdog…” he snorted in derision. “A hotdog can’t even sustain a ten-year old, much less a big man like you. Would you like to work for me, Joe?”