Marcello
Being judged isn’t something foreign to me. I’m used to the whispers, the stares, the way people scatter or cross the road when they see me walking their way.
It comes with the territory when your last name is De Bellis.
But being judged by her before she gives me a chance to prove her wrong? Yeah, I’m not going to stand for that.
Zoe thinks she knows who I am, assumes I’m nothing more than a street thug with no morals or ethics.
Letting her walk out of my life isn’t an option. I’ll show her just how virtuous this sinner can be.
Zoe
Moving to Melbourne from New York is the fresh start I craved while having connections here from back home is a welcomed comfort.
When your self-appointed adoptive father is the Pakhan of the Bratva and his wife belongs to one of the five Italian families of New York, you end up bubble-wrapped in one big invisible layer of protectiveness.
I’m safe here. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can pop that bubble. Especially if I don’t want it to.
That’s why, when a six-foot-three hulk of a man takes my breath away and leaves me aching for more of what he delivered in one night, I embrace the shelter my connections afford me.
The last thing I need is to get mixed up with someone who belongs in the criminal underworld. I’ve experienced firsthand how that turns out for girls like me. As much as I want it to be, my last name isn’t Petrov or Valentino. I don’t end up with the dark prince in my own version of a fairy tale.
It doesn’t matter how relentlessly Marcello persists, I will not cave. I will not give in to my bodies desires to have him just one more time…
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Cheryl