Natasha L. Black – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Natasha L. Black – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 20 May 2026 17:50:45 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Natasha L. Black – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Ruthless Vow – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/ruthless-vow-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Wed, 20 May 2026 17:50:45 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/ruthless-vow-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >71

He saved me from a kidnapping.
Promised protection I never asked for.
And became more dangerous than my enemies.
Viktor Kovalev isn’t a hero.
He’s the kind of man even the Bratva fears.
And he just started a war over me.
I was supposed to marry a monster.
A forced Bratva alliance my own father arranged.
I said no.
They dragged me into a car anyway.
Then Viktor showed up with a gun and a death wish,
And everything changed.
He locked me in a safehouse.
Called me Valkyrie.
And looked at me like I was already his.
I told him I’d never be his.
He said, “Then fight me.”
So I did — until fighting turned into something
neither of us could walk away from.
Now I’m carrying a secret that will change everything.
His enemies want me as a bride.
My father wants me as a bargaining chip.
But Viktor?
When he finds out what I’m hiding, he won’t just protect me.
He’ll end bloodlines to keep ours safe

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

VIKTOR

Ileave the restaurant before dessert because I’m tired of listening to these assholes lie to my face. They think they’re clever, but I see through their ass-kissing. They want a piece of my territory, but the answer will always be no. They think I’m going to forget how quickly men like them switch sides when a bigger threat walks into the room.

Sergei stays behind to finish the meeting with them. He’s better at pretending to negotiate, at reeling them in to the point that we earn their trust. I’m the one who ultimately drops the hammer. My word is law. It doesn’t hurt to have allies though, and just because I’m not giving them my property doesn’t mean we can’t be useful to one another in the future.

That’s where Sergei shines. He somehow makes people see a “no” as a positive. He establishes these bullshit relationships that help us and hurt our enemies. They don’t even realize what they’re agreeing to when all is said and done, and we still end up on top. It’s why Sergei is the second-in-command of my family’s operation. He knows how to get results.

The smaller Brighton outfits are getting nervous. That’s what tonight was about, even if they wouldn’t say it directly. They kept circling back to the same subject without ever landing on it. They’re all terrified of Grinkov. They’re all experiencing new dock disputes, increased security shifts, and shipments that used to move quietly are now being rerouted. They all want to know if I’m going to step in and do something about it. They want protection without openly declaring allegiance.

I’m not in the habit of fighting other men’s wars.

My family carved out our stretch of Brooklyn decades ago. My grandfather did it with brute force. My father cleaned it up, turned it into something structured and profitable. I inherited something stable, something disciplined. We don’t expand our operations purely for ego. We expand when it makes sense for our organization. We survive by minding our own business and staying out of petty disputes.

Grinkov doesn’t operate that way. He doesn’t build, he consumes. That’s why everyone is running scared. They don’t want their own operations to be bulldozed by Grinkov, but it’s not my place to intervene.

I collect my keys from the valet and wait for him to bring the car around. By the time he pulls around, I barely give him a chance to get out before I’m behind the wheel.

I told my driver to take the night off because I knew this meeting would leave a bad taste in my mouth. I need a drive to clear my head and consider everything that’s happened.

Neptune Avenue is alive tonight. Music spills out of open doors. Women laugh too loudly, stumbling over shoes that look like weapons. A few young idiots rev engines like they’re the biggest, baddest punks on the block. I don’t see any of it the way civilians do. I’m counting security rotations. I’m noting new faces outside clubs that used to answer to me. I’m clocking which runners are too young to be local.

There are too many new bodies in Brighton Beach. Too much movement near my borders.

Brighton Beach has always been shared territory in practice, even if no one says it out loud. Half answers to Kovalev influence. Half leans toward Malenkov. Grinkov has been trying to tilt that balance for years, buying up failing businesses, sliding their people into management positions, offering loans with interest rates that bleed families dry.

They don’t just want Brighton. They want all of Brooklyn.

If they get enough footholds, they’ll start pressing toward Bay Ridge and Red Hook next. Toward my docks.

And I don’t lose ground.

Volna’s side entrance comes up on my right. That club is Grinkov money through and through. Flashy, loud, attracting exactly the kind of chaos that brings police attention. I’ve let them keep it because it’s contained. Because it’s easier to let them burn out Brighton than to fight over it, but I don’t like how popular it’s becoming. It’s attracting an unwelcome element to my territory.

I’m halfway past the alley when the movement pulls my attention.

There are three men crowding around a woman near a black sedan that’s angled toward the street, engine already running. At first glance, it looks like the kind of messy argument that happens outside nightclubs every weekend. A drunk couple fighting. A girl refusing to go home. Something loud but ultimately unimportant.

Then I look closer.

One of the men is gripping her upper arm too high and too tightly for it to be casual. The second has his hand braced at her waist, not guiding her but forcing her. The third keeps glancing up the street instead of looking at her, which tells me this is organized.

I slow the car without thinking about it. A horn blares behind me and I flip on my hazards. The driver lays on his horn again. I don’t look back. If he wants to pick a fight, he’s going to get more than he’s bargaining for.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >71

Advertisement Saved by the Devil – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/saved-read-online-the-devil-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:33:11 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/saved-read-online-the-devil-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And I witnessed something I was never meant to see.
A scream.
A gunshot.
A man with blood on his hands who doesn’t pretend to be a hero.
Samuil Volkov runs the Bratva with violence and precision.
Men fear him. Enemies disappear.
When he pulls me out of that alley, I become a liability.
I saw too much.
And the men he crossed want me gone.
One night changes everything.
One reckless mistake binds us together.
Now I’m carrying his child.
His enemies are closing in.
The man who swore he’d never have a family is ready to start a war.
Because the Devil didn’t just save my life.
He claimed it

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

SAMUIL

Iwatch as blood runs down the marble sink, disappearing down the drain. The longer I scrub my hands, the pinker the water becomes. Finally, when I’m sure I’ve gotten all the blood off, I towel my hands dry and slip out of my ruined shirt. Hopefully, Rosalina will be able to get the stains out. I know better than to wear white when I’m dealing with a problem, but this scuffle came up unexpectedly.

It doesn’t matter. I’m used to blood, and so is she. Good help is everything in a job like this.

I grab a new shirt from the small linen closet. This is what I mean about good help. Rosalina keeps my office closet well-stocked at all times. She knows better than anyone that I often have to change quickly like this. I take great pride in my appearance, so tailored, designer suits are a must. If only I could stop ruining them with blood.

I walk out of the marble washroom and step back into my office. The lights are low to help Davýd with his headache. When it’s dark in here like this, it’s easier to see the sprawling city below my window.

Davýd sits in one of the leather chairs facing my desk, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Blood marks his shirt in a rough smear down the front, and more darkens his collar. His lip is split. The gash above his eye is swollen so badly that his lid has completely closed. He hasn’t bothered with ice.

I open the small stainless-steel fridge behind my desk and take out one of the ice packs I keep stocked for nights like this. I toss it to him. It lands in his palm with a soft thud. He groans and presses it to the side of his head, hissing at the sting.

“You need to work on your defensive stance,” I say, turning away from him. It’s half-truth, half-reproach. Davýd can win in a fight against just about anyone, but sometimes he forgets he’s not invincible.

He doesn’t laugh at the joke. He hasn’t laughed much in the last few months.

I move to the window and rest my hands on the polished wood sill, staring at the city below. From here, all our problems seem so small and insignificant, but they’ve clearly followed us home. My ruined shirt and Davýd’s face are proof of that. At least the blood isn’t mine.

“They’re not going to stop coming at you,” Davýd mutters behind me. His voice is low, strained, and tired. He’s been tired a lot lately.

I turn my head enough to see him.

“No,” I say. “They won’t, which is why I need to stop them for good.”

He lifts his head enough to peer at me with his one good eye. He looks like he wants to argue, to caution me, but he knows better. There’s a line between brother and subordinate, and he never tests it when my mind is already set.

“You want to hit Lebedev where it hurts,” he says instead, settling back in the chair. It isn’t a question. He knows me too well.

“Whether he claims the attack or not, you and I both know he’s not going to stop hitting until his hands are broken.”

Davýd’s jaw tightens as he considers this.

“Lebedev is unpredictable. He’s drunk half the time, and paranoid the rest. You take him out and his men scatter without a leader, but the fallout will be messy.”

“The fallout doesn’t concern me,” I say nonchalantly. “My main concern is cutting off the head of the beast.”

He snorts softly, winces at the pain from his cracked lip, then adjusts the ice against his brow.

“All right.” He sighs. “Then tell me what your next move is, and what you need me to do.”

I look away from the city and back at him, at his battered face, at the fatigue in his shoulders. He’s loyal in a way most men can’t even imagine. He has bled for me too many times to count. I walk back toward him and stop beside the desk.

“I need you to take a team to the warehouse on Ninth,” I say. “Call the men in shifts. I want eyes on Lebedev’s shipments at all times, and I want confirmation on who he’s been meeting. I suspect he’s got someone else funding his operation, and I need to know who that person is.”

Davýd nods easily, accepting the order despite the fact that his face is still swollen and he can barely see out of his good eye.

“Do you have someone to watch Anya tonight?” I ask quietly.

His shoulders stiffen and he lowers the ice pack to look up at me fully. “I can manage Anya on my own,” he says. “She’ll stay with me.”

“You don’t want her anywhere near this shit,” I remind him. “How’s it been with her?”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

Advertisement Her Mountain Saviors – Why Just One Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/her-mountain-saviors-why-just-one-read-online-natasha-l-black Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:04 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/her-mountain-saviors-why-just-one-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

Smoke fills my cabin before I realize what’s wrong
Moments later, three strangers come crashing into my life.

They’re big. Bearded. Furious I almost burned the place down.
One of them hauls me outside like I weigh nothing.
Another wraps me in his coat, all heat and muscle.
And the third looks at me like I’m already his responsibility.

That’s how I end up in their mountain lodge—
and how I met Boone, Chance, and Dillon.

A former UFC champion.
A lethal ex-Marine.
A brilliant hacker with a sinful smile.

They gave me a job.
A place to hide.
And a kind of attention that makes my knees weak.

They don’t love like normal men.
They share.
And when they decide to claim me, there’s no turning back.

But the danger I ran from didn’t stop hunting me.

And when it comes to the mountain…
These men will do whatever it takes to protect what’s theirs.

Even if it costs them everything.

This is a standalone contemporary reverse harem romance with a curvy heroine, three fiercely protective men, high-stakes danger, and a guaranteed HEA. Expect possessive heroes, why-choose romance, and plenty of steamy scenes featuring MFMM dynamics

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

ROXIE

In the two years I’ve been slinging drinks at one of Manhattan’s top clubs, I’ve learned that bad men don’t always look it. Some wear thousand-dollar suits and smile like saints, while committing some of the worst sins imaginable.

But college doesn’t pay for itself, and the tips make the forced smiles worth it.

Vincent Caruso is at one of my tables again tonight, all pearly white teeth and smooth, sophisticated menace. Silver-white streaks shoot through his black hair and deep lines are etched into formerly handsome features. His tailored cream-colored suit alone probably costs as much as my rent for an entire year.

Rumor has it he is the kind of guy who can order a hit and a martini in the same breath. He leans across the table, speaking intently to some other older guy opposite him.

Music from the main dance floor filters up to the balcony where they are seated, with strobe lights flashing overhead and washing their features in pulses of red, purple, and green. I’m supposed to be listening as I approach, but it’s hard not to when the music isn’t deafening up here and someone drops the words “take out Reed” between a toast and a refill.

I freeze mid-step, the champagne bottle suddenly like a flashing beacon of oh-fuck between my fingers. My hand is still steady, but my brain isn’t.

My thoughts start racing, my fingers going numb when it dawns on me what I’ve walked into. Bob Reed is the district attorney. The guy has been on every news channel this week talking about cleaning up the Caruso syndicate.

I don’t breathe or blink. I just try to fade into the velvet wallpaper and pretend I hadn’t heard a damn thing, but then the ice bucket gets in my way.

There’s a neat little clink when I smack the bottle into it as I back away, then comes the long, dramatic crash of my paycheck and my hopes of getting away unnoticed hitting the floor.

Melted ice sloshes out, the silver bucket lying in the middle of the darkening carpet like a victim at a crime scene. Glass shatters, flying in every direction when the replacement bottle bursts on impact.

Caruso’s head turns at the commotion, the boss’s dark eyes immediately finding mine. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly drier than the Sahara.

Shit.

I don’t see him give any signal, but the bodyguards flanking the table move fast, like shadows bound in muscle as they start toward me. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, I’m already running, ducking behind the VIP curtain and abandoning my tray while my heart does its best impression of a pounding drumline.

I know the layout of this club as well as my own apartment. I tear down the hall, race past the kitchen, and burst through the door that sticks unless you hit it with your hip.

The shouts I leave in my wake grow louder as I sprint past the back bar and into the service corridor. Someone yells my name, but I recognize the voice and it doesn’t belong to anyone dangerous.

Trinity, my coworker, is probably wondering why I’m racing through the club like I have hellhounds on my tail.

I tuck my chin and keep running. Tomorrow, I will explain. Maybe. Right now, all I need is to get out of here. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that how it works?

There’s no way they’ll remember the waitress’s face, I tell myself. No way they care enough to come after me if I can just get out.

Finally, I burst out into the alley, the city noise swallowing me whole. The cool night air hits like a slap after the heat in the club, the scent of diesel, rain, and freedom in every ragged breath I drag in.

My pulse is still hammering when I hit the street. My whole body shakes, but I keep running.

I’ll have to get a new job just to be on the safe side. Maybe even a new name. But I’m alive.

Unless they come after me.

Don’t be dramatic. They’re not going to come⁠—

A gunshot cracks through the night, and my heart drops straight past my stomach all the way to Middle earth. Concrete crumbles. Glass rains down from somewhere.

My brain doesn’t even fully register the sounds for what they are until instinct does. Holy fuck. They’re chasing me.

One of my heels disappears when I bolt around the corner, sacrificed to the gods of bad timing and uneven pavement. I kick the other away instead of hobbling. Survival will be enough. I don’t need to accessorize on the other side.

“Stop!” one of them shouts, the word freezing my spine worse than the wind.

God, he’s closer than I thought. Too close.

Bullets hiss past, a hot swipe of air and panic. A car alarm starts screaming somewhere as I duck into an alley that smells like piss, fried oil, and regret, my heart still trying to break out of my ribs.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

Advertisement Forbidden Boss Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/forbidden-boss-read-online-natasha-l-black Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:40:21 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/forbidden-boss-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Forbidden, Mafia Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

On Sunday night, I slept with a stranger.
On Monday morning, he became my boss.
On Tuesday, I learned he’s the Pakhan.

Lev Borikov.
CEO. Bratva king.
Controlled, lethal, untouchable.

I’m the accountant hired to fix the books,
and the woman he never expected to see again.

When I find missing millions,
I become a target.
The FBI urges me to run.
Lev forbids it.

His solution is
take me home, keep me close,
and protect me with the same brutality he rules the city with.

But then I discover I’m pregnant,
and I’m not just carrying his secret—
I’m carrying the future of the Bratva.

Because in the Bratva, what the Pakhan claims is his forever.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

INTRODUCTION

On Sunday night, I slept with a stranger.

On Monday morning, he became my boss.

On Tuesday, I learned he’s the Pakhan.

Lev Borikov.

CEO. Bratva king.

Controlled, lethal, untouchable.

I’m the accountant hired to fix the books,

and the woman he never expected to see again.

When I find missing millions,

I become a target.

The FBI urges me to run.

Lev forbids it.

His solution is simple:

take me home, keep me close,

and protect me with the same brutality he rules the city with.

But then I discover I’m pregnant,

and I’m not just carrying his secret⁠—

I’m carrying the future of the Bratva.

Because in the Bratva, what the Pakhan claims is his forever.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed!

1

MARI

The bass shakes through the floor and climbs into my chest, a relentless beat that makes conversation pointless and dancing irresistible. Neon lights spill across the packed club, washing strangers in shifting blue and pink. I tip my glass back, finish the last sweet swallow of my cocktail, and laugh as Susie grabs my wrist and pulls me deeper onto the dance floor.

The crowd swallows us whole. Bodies press close, heat rising in a wave that clings to my skin. I let it sink into me, let the music loosen the knot of responsibility that always sits between my shoulders. Tonight, I’m not the girl who spent years hunched over library desks or the one who counted every dollar and stretched it as far as it would go.

Tonight, I’m celebrating.

Hours earlier, I was standing barefoot in my tiny kitchen when my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. I almost ignored it, ready to let it go to voicemail, but curiosity made me swipe the screen.

“Ms. Gonzales?” a woman asked, brisk and professional enough to make my pulse skyrocket.

“Yes, this is she,” I said, my throat going dry.

“This is Janet Munson at Levcon Industries. I’m pleased to extend an offer of employment for the Forensic Accountant position you interviewed for. If possible, we’d like you to start on Monday.”

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Then the words slammed into me all at once, and I gripped the counter to keep from laughing or screaming, or both. I’d interviewed for that position thinking there was no shot in hell I’d ever get it. And now it was mine!

The call ended in a blur of formalities. I didn’t register a single one. All I remembered was punching Susie’s contact with shaking fingers.

She answered with her usual impatience.

“You’d better be dying or telling me you got that fancy job you’ve been stressing about,” she said, her brusqueness cutting through the line.

Susie absolutely hates talking on the phone.

“I got it!” My voice cracked from the force of excitement. “Levcon just called. I start Monday.”

Her squeal nearly burst my eardrums.

“Oh, my God, Mari! This is huge! We’re going out to celebrate tonight, no arguments.”

Now here we are, standing in the middle of one of Manhattan’s hottest nightclubs, surrounded by flashing lights and music so loud it rattles my bones.

Susie twirls, her silver dress sparkling under the lights, her blonde hair flying around her face as she laughs. She’s a magnet for attention, already catching eyes from every angle, but she only grins at me, urging me to let go.

At first, I’m reluctant, but I give in, swaying with her and letting the rhythm take over. The knot between my shoulders starts to loosen in a way it hasn’t in the last year.

That’s when I see him.

He stands in the roped-off VIP section that overlooks the dance floor, a few feet from anyone else. Unlike the crowd of guys our age, he doesn’t fidget with his phone or shout to be heard over the music. He simply stands there, a dark silhouette against the neon haze, radiating a kind of quiet command that draws my gaze like gravity.

The lights shift, and I catch him in full view.

He has salt-and-pepper hair, cut neatly at the sides and longer on top, catching the glow in silver streaks. His jaw is sharp, his mouth set in a line that looks like it rarely curves into a smile.

He’s tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored suit that fits him so well it must have been made for him. His icy blue eyes scan the club like he’s above it all. His gaze makes my spine straighten immediately, though I can’t quite explain why.

I freeze in place, caught by the sheer force of him.

Susie follows my line of sight, then smirks. She leans close, her lips brushing my ear so I can hear her over the music.

“Wow, he’s hot,” she says, eyeing him appreciatively. “But he’s old, Mari. Like, probably old enough to be your dad.”

My eyes stay locked on him.

“So what?” I shout back over the music. “I’m done with boys. I want a man who knows what he’s doing. Someone who doesn’t think ramen counts as a meal.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

Advertisement Bound by Debt – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/bound-read-online-debt-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:06:17 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/bound-read-online-debt-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

My family’s debt became my prison.
Now I belong to the man who owns it.

Evgeny Kucherov.
Cold. Scarred. Merciless. Feared by all.
When I got caught trying to fix things,
he took me instead.

A deal was struck—
my family’s safety in exchange for my freedom.
Now I work for him, trapped inside his mansion,
my skills at his disposal and my body at his mercy.

He’s dangerous, unpredictable…
the kind of man you should run from but never can.

Every command tests my will.
Every touch burns hotter than the last.
And when I discover I’m carrying his twins,
I realize I’ll never truly escape him.

Because debts can be repaid.
But a man like Evgeny Kucherov never lets go of what’s his.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

EVA

“I’m gonna kill this kid.”

I feel the bass pounding through the soles of my shoes before I even hear the song. My heels tap to the beat as I stride down the dark, smoky hallway. It’s hard not to stumble back. The music, the bright strobes, and the thrum of the crowd swamp my senses, and for a moment I almost run back the way I came.

Instead, I forge ahead, pushing through club-goers in short dresses and tacky suits, ties pulled loose or draped around their necks. It’s hard to tell one face from another in this place, much less spot the person I’m looking for.

“Where the hell is Jordan?” I ask, finally spotting Damon’s light hair, messy as always, like he rolled out of bed and didn’t bother with a mirror. He’s hunched over a drink at the bar, his eyes half-lidded.

“Well, look at you,” Damon says, his eyes raking over me in a way he wouldn’t dare if he were sober. “Is that what’s hiding under all those baggy sweatshirts?”

“Shut the fuck up before I do it for you, Damon.”

I’m out of patience tonight, and I’m not dealing with this asshole whose creepy stares I’ve put up with since he and my brother became friends in ninth grade.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” He shrugs, sipping whatever clear liquid is in his glass. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me for getting you out of your basement lair?”

With its sharp angles, dark leather, exposed steel, and crystal chandeliers, this club is not my scene. I spend my days in a windowless basement by choice, away from other people, surrounded by my monitors and the soft hum of their towers.

“Just tell me where the fuck he is, Damon. And aren’t you a little, I don’t know, underage to be at the bar? Or in this club at all?”

My throat already hurts from yelling to be heard over the music.

His only answer is a shrug. “Like they care here as long as they have my money.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll care if it’s all over the news that Club Empire is serving minors. You think they’ll appreciate that?” I put all the menace I can into the threat.

Damon shakes his head and drops the glass onto the marble counter with a thud. “Whatever. I was going home anyway.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is. Somewhere in the club. He went off with a few guys a while ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

The club sprawls, with a busy dance floor past the bar. Never mind that there are surely private rooms I won’t be able to talk my way into, which means my idiot brother could be anywhere.

“Eva.”

I look back at my brother’s friend as he slides off the barstool. An edge of fear has replaced the bleariness in his eyes. “Be careful. Those guys looked like trouble, and you know what Jordan’s been into lately.”

I don’t know. Not exactly. But this club is rumored to have connections to the Kucherov Bratva, and that’s bad enough. They aren’t a bunch you want to cross. Kucherov.

“Fucking asshole,” I growl under my breath, but I’m not talking about the kid whose blonde head I see squeezing through the crowd to the exit, the guy I’m here to drag out of trouble. I couldn’t count on my fingers how many times I’ve had to save his ass.

Someone screams as the music changes, though it’s hard to hear the melody over the pounding club beat. Then more screams join the first, and the crowd, which pushed me one way, surges back like a riptide, pulling me with it. I’m too small to resist it, so all I can do is cover my head and try to stay on my feet so I don’t get trampled.

The crowd clears just in time for me to see a big man in a cheap suit lower his head and barrel into a tall kid with dark hair standing in the middle of the vacated dance floor.

“Jordan!”

The scream leaves my throat before I’m even aware of the impulse to yell my brother’s name. And then I’m running, heels be damned, launching myself at the guy who has the front of my brother’s shirt in one hand and is smashing his other fist repeatedly into my brother’s face.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

Advertisement Claimed by the Boss – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/claimed-read-online-the-boss-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:26:43 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/claimed-read-online-the-boss-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >68

Falling for your new boss is a bad idea.
Getting pregnant by him? Even worse.
Especially when he runs the Bratva.

He saved me from a creep at the bar,
then handed me his business card.
Damien Morozov.
Impossibly rich. Impeccably controlled.
The kind of man whose world should never collide with mine.

So imagine my shock when I walk into my new job…
and find him behind the desk.
The man I thought I’d never see again.

I thought he was a businessman.
Turns out, he’s the one they whisper about.
The ghost in a tailored suit.
The man who commands the Bratva.

I tried to keep my secret safe.
But nothing stays hidden from Damien Morozov.
Especially not me.

When Damien learns the truth, his control shatters.
Not with anger—but with obsession.
Because no one touches what belongs to him.
Not his empire.
Not his woman.
And definitely not his child.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

LYRA

The sound of a glass shattering draws attention near the bar.

Before I can even process who did it and why it happened, my coworker catches my attention first.

“Table seventeen wants another bottle of Dom, and the guy in the grey suit asked if we serve caviar with a conscience,” Cindy mutters as she breezes past me, two martinis balanced in one hand.

Maison Royale is chaos dressed in crystal and candlelight. Jazz hums from the baby grand in the corner, the clink of cutlery and high heels layering over it. Manhattan glitters outside the floor-to-ceiling windows like a city showing off.

I dodge a stumbling drunk in Gucci loafers and slide into my section, tray perched on my shoulder. The finance bros are already loud and laughing too hard at jokes that probably aren’t even a little bit funny, while loosening their ties like it’s a strip show. I deliver their cocktails with a smile polished from years of practice.

“Gentlemen,” I say, setting the glasses down. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

One of them, slicked-back hair and Wall Street swagger, leans in. His breath reeks of gin and ego.

“How about your number?” he slurs.

“Not on the menu,” I reply, still smiling.

His buddies chuckle. He doesn’t.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he pushes, voice thick. “You want that big tip, don’t you?” He jerks his chin downward.

I keep my tray steady. “Anything else I can get for you?”

His smile drops. “Snooty bitch,” he mutters under his breath as I walk away.

I hear it, but I don’t stop. Can’t resist not rolling my eyes though.

The rest of the night blurs as orders come in, tables reset, and I expertly dodge many pairs of sweaty hands and veiled insults with the grace of a stage actress. But it comes to a full stop fifteen minutes later when I return to the bros with their steaks.

“This is too rare,” Mr. Slicked Hair snaps, poking at the plate like it offended him personally. “Also, your service sucks.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say coolly. “Would you like to speak with my manager?”

“Oh, don’t run off,” he sneers. “A girl like you should be able to handle a little criticism.”

He steps into my space. I don’t flinch, but I can feel eyes on us now. Nearby tables go quiet.

“Apologize,” he demands, eyes narrowed. “For your attitude.”

I blink once. “I offered to comp your dessert.”

He grabs my wrist.

My body reacts faster than my mind. I twist, pull back, but he holds tight. The tray wobbles in my other hand. Ice rattles.

“Let go,” I say under my breath.

“Don’t be a⁠—”

Then he’s gone in a blink of an eye.

He’s ripped away so fast he stumbles into a chair. A stranger, who is tall, calm, and terrifyingly precise, has him by the collar. One second it’s chaos, the next it’s a chokehold.

The finance bro gasps. His feet scramble against the tile.

“The lady said no,” the man says. His voice is cool. Russian-accented. Deadly calm.

He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to.

The room goes silent. Even the pianist stops playing.

“Let’s not make a scene,” he adds.

It’s far too late for that.

The mysterious man releases him. Mr. Slicked Hair collapses into his seat, choking and red-faced. His friends grab their coats and drag him out, tossing a wad of cash on the table like that makes it better.

I stand there frozen, my heart racing from the action that unfolded so quickly in front of me.

The man straightens his cufflinks, as if he didn’t just choke someone in the middle of a Michelin-starred dining room and walks back to his table without looking at me.

That’s when I notice his suit. It’s midnight black and impeccably tailored to compliment his obviously very fit stature. He sits across from an older man eating steak like nothing happened.

I don’t know whether to be shaken or impressed.

I exhale hard and head straight to the service station. My hands are shaking, but I keep moving and grab a water pitcher, looking to see if anyone in my range of view needs a refill. I need something to do. Anything.

Cindy rounds the corner, eyes wide. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, even though my pulse is still sprinting. “Handled.”

“You sure? Because Mr. Cold War over there looked like he was about to snap that guy in half.”

I glance across the dining room. He’s back at his table, calm as ever, sipping red wine like nothing happened. His companion, who is older with salt-and-pepper hair, doesn’t even glance up. It’s like this is normal for them.

And maybe it is. Rich people could lead impossibly weird lifestyles.

I refill a couple of water glasses and loop back around my section. The table where it all went down is now cleared and reset, thanks to a busboy who saw it all go down with wide eyes and fast hands. The tip the bros left is still sitting there, a fat wad of twenties.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >68

Advertisement Sold to the Bratva – Sinful Mafia Daddies Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/sold-to-the-bratva-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Sun, 12 Oct 2025 20:52:03 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/sold-to-the-bratva-sinful-mafia-daddies-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

My father didn’t protect me.
He auctioned me off.
Straight into the arms of a ruthless man twice my age.

The devil dressed in a three-piece suit.…
Isaac Kozlov.
A man who doesn’t request—he commands .

One vow stole my freedom.
One night in his bed ruined my resolve.

I swore I’d never love him.
Never crave the touch of a man who rules by fear.

But Isaac doesn’t bend.
He breaks.
And every time he claims me, my hatred burns into dangerous desire.

Then his enemies strike.
I’m kidnapped. A pawn in a war I never asked to play.

His enemies thought they could take me.
They forgot who owns me.

Isaac will scorch the earth to bring me back.
Not for love. Not for mercy.
Because in his world, possession is permanent.

And once I’m his again,
he’ll ruin me in ways I’ll never recover from—
starting with the baby I swore I’d never give him.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

KATYA

“Fuck you’re a good kisser.”

“I’m an even better lay.”

Little does my date know, it’ll never get that far.

The front door creaks when I shove it open with my back, a laugh slipping out as his warm lips skim the sensitive curve of my neck. I grope for the handle until I catch it, nudging the door shut with a soft click. Leaning into the stranger’s mouth, I let him leave feather kisses over my skin, even though I can’t remember his name.

Vince? Vlad? Something with a V, maybe a B. Not that it matters. He smells of leather, gin, and unearned swagger. The kind of guy who orders bottle service and leaves a five-percent tip. In short, a douche, but I don’t care. He was charming enough to reel me in and sleazy enough to infuriate my dad. For tonight, that’s the only thing that matters.

I slip off my heels one at a time, my bare feet settling on the cool marble.

“Shh,” I whisper, glancing down the hallway. “Don’t be too loud, or you’ll disturb the guards.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be in and out before anyone even knows I was here.”

There’s the sleaze I was hoping for. Then again, even if he were a choirboy from Jersey, my father would still hate him. In my father’s eyes, who I bring home is never my call. My love life is just another pawn in his game. And, tonight, yanking that pawn off the board is all that matters to me.

I smirk at Vince-or-Vlad, whatever his name is.

“Cocky,” I purr. “I like that.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Honestly, I don’t even know what I like in a guy except that he cannot be someone my father hand-picked. Once my fate is sealed, there’s no going back, so for now I’ll squeeze whatever fun I can out of the night.

Our hushed voices ricochet through the grand hallway, slicing through the silence that hangs over the place. Growing up here was less luxury and more legislation, a museum of velvet drapes, antique furniture, and armed men I learned to slip past if I wanted even a shred of normalcy.

We make it only six steps into the house before a voice crashes through the dark.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Katya?”

I stop cold, my heartbeat thrumming with surprise and anger.

It isn’t the volume of his voice, it’s the lethal edge. My spine locks as I turn toward the source. The living room glows with amber light from the fireplace, casting long shadows across the ornate rug. My father sits in his usual armchair, his jaw set like stone, and beside him, smugly sipping scotch and clearly enjoying the show, is Oleg Grinkov, the pakhan of the Grinkov Bratva.

Shit. I didn’t just get caught. I embarrassed my father in front of his boss. There will be hell to pay. I swallow hard and sidestep whatshisname, shoving him behind me like a misbehaving dog.

“I didn’t realize you were home,” I say, my voice pitched too high and nowhere near sharp enough.

Papa’s stare doesn’t waver. “It’s time for you to send your friend home.”

“He’s not my friend,” I shoot back, trying to maintain some tiny shred of control over the situation. “He’s my reward for playing the dutiful daughter all damn day.”

His brow lifts, and my attempt to assert myself dies a swift, painful death.

I turn to my club fling and sigh. “You should go,” I say quietly.

He frowns, wearing the look of a man who’s just realized he isn’t getting lucky tonight.

“What? Babe⁠—”

“Now,” I snap, cutting him off. “Seriously. Get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

He shifts his gaze between the two men and me like he’s finally realized he might be in real danger. Then he huffs, mutters something under his breath, and walks out the front door with his ego bruised and his night ruined. I almost envy him.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

Advertisement Wrong Number Right Don – Mafia Romance Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/wrong-number-right-don-mafia-romance-read-online-natasha-l-black Sat, 30 Aug 2025 08:42:01 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/wrong-number-right-don-mafia-romance-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

I texted the wrong number.
He texted back.
Now the Bratva owns me.

It was supposed to be a rant to the date who stood me up.
Instead, I got Sergei Volkov.
Cold. Ruthless. Powerful.
The kind of man you don’t say no to.

He took me to dinner.
Then took me apart in bed.
No names. No strings.
Just the best night of my life.

I never expected to see him again...
Until he walked into my ER—
While I was already five weeks pregnant.

Now he wants me under his roof, caring for his ailing mother.
I need the money.
But how do I hide his baby...
When he watches me like he already owns me?

Because Sergei isn't just any man.
He’s a Pakhan.
A ruthless Russian crime boss with blood on his hands.
And once he finds out what I’m hiding...
He’ll never let me go.

This is a full-length standalone mafia romance. No cliff hanger. Happily ever after guaranteed

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

NICOLE

Hey, asshole. Did you seriously just leave while I was in the bathroom?

I stand on the side of the road, arms crossed over my chest, glaring at my phone like it personally betrayed me. The chilly night air bites at my exposed skin, as my little black dress offers zero protection against the elements. But I’m too pissed to care. I can’t believe this actually happened to me. My date freaking bailed in the middle of dinner.

I don’t expect an immediate reply. Honestly, I don’t expect a reply at all. So when my phone vibrates in my hand a second later, my heart gives a stupid little lurch. Maybe there’s a logical explanation. Maybe his mom called with an emergency. I’m a nurse, so I could understand that. I’m not remotely prepared for the lame-ass excuse that pops up.

Who’s this?

I blink at the screen. What the actual hell? First he bails, now he’s playing dumb? I’m poised to unleash several choice words when a horrific thought hits me. I double-check the number I saved from the dating app, and a chill washes over me. Shit. I transposed two numbers.

Uh, I think I have the wrong number. Ignore me.

I move to lock my phone and hail a taxi, but another message comes through.

Too late. I’m intrigued.

A shiver runs down my spine, and this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

I chew my lip, considering. I have no idea who this person is, whether they’re even a man or a woman. But I’m still wired from the adrenaline rush of being abandoned mid-date, and a little conversation won’t kill me.

Intrigued by what? Some random woman cussing out her bad date? Not much of a story.

Depends. What’s my competition look like?

I snort. The man bailed while I was reapplying my lip gloss, leaving a half-finished cocktail and zero explanation. He’s hardly competition for anyone.

Unless you’re a cowardly man who sneaks off when your date used the restroom, there’s no contest.

So I win by default.

The sheer cockiness makes me laugh. My irritation evaporates, replaced by amused curiosity, as I slide into the cab idling at the curb. Once I’m settled, I turn back to the conversation.

That depends. What exactly did you win?

I won the chance to prove to you that not all men are spineless idiots.

I can’t deny the man has game. I have a decision now. I could keep up the flirtation with some random, faceless stranger, or block this number, go home, and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine.

I shift in the back seat and feel a surge of boldness I haven’t tasted in ages. Flirty texting it is.

Bold assumption. Maybe I was only looking for a one-night stand.

So you want a spineless asshole sleeping in your bed tonight?

My stomach tightens as embarrassment washes over me. Who is this stranger to question what kind of man I take home? I’m tempted again to just block his number and call it a night, but I can’t help but fire back.

Who’s to say I would want a guy like you sleeping in my bed?

If I were in your bed, there wouldn’t be much sleeping happening. And I happen to have a very sturdy spine.

I bite my lip, grinning at the screen. Who is this guy? When the cab stops, the driver barely glances up as I pay and slip out. Phone in hand, I walk toward my apartment.

A smooth talker, eh? That only works on me if you look good doing it.

A photo comes through, and even though it shows only half his face and the broad planes of his chest, it does wicked things to me.

Does that work for you?

My breath catches. Holy hell. Cocky and hot? My night just took a sharp turn for the better. Yet a cautious voice whispers that I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t even know this man. But he’s leaps and bounds hotter than my runaway dinner date.

I step into my apartment, skin flushed and a familiar heat pooling between my thighs. It’s ridiculous that one sexy half of a face and chest is all it takes. Paired with his words and the sting of being ditched, I’m already buzzing.

You’re trouble, aren’t you?

Only the best kind, malyshka.

I quickly Google the word, and holy hell, the translation sends a flutter through my chest. I perch on the edge of my bed and squeeze my thighs together, desperate for a sliver of friction. I wonder if this stranger really could ruin me. I could desperately use a little ruining.

My fingers hover over the keyboard before I finally tap out the next text. I know it’ll only fan the flames. Without second-guessing, I hit send and let out a little squeal as I stare at the screen.

I’m home.

I wait with staggered breath as I watch him type.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

Advertisement Double Dirty – Why Just One Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/double-dirty-why-just-one-read-online-natasha-l-black Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:25:49 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/double-dirty-why-just-one-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Me.
The good girl.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
But I’m lusting over two men.

When a drug dealer is out for my blood,
Rafe and Leo are my only hope.
Rafe, the protective self-defense instructor.
And Leo, the sexy playboy firefighter.
Team up to protect me.
The two beefy, alpha men are my obsession.
I think of their rough hands touching my skin.
Them sharing me in ways that are so wrong but feel so right.
I’ve been a good girl all my life.
Good and… in control.
Maybe it’s time I surrender myself to my ultimate fantasy.
Let them own me.
Get double dirty.

So, now when my enemy attacks…
Two sets of strong arms have my back

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Lexi

Itook deep breaths to calm myself as I turned off the main road and onto the gravel. No matter how many times I’d been out there, I always dreaded it. I had just reunified a boy with his mother who worked two jobs and completed parenting classes and outpatient rehab before the deadline so that she could get him home. She was never late for a single visit and never failed to renew my faith in humanity. This guy though. He was the opposite.

When I got the case, a five-year-old girl had been removed from the home for neglect, and her dad had been charged. A neighbor had called the authorities in after she saw the child playing with what looked like a real firearm. It had actually been a stolen .357 magnum. Her dad had somehow gotten away with probation, but Elisa was in foster care until he completed some parenting classes and proved he was consistent and responsible in his visitation. In three months he hadn’t even proven himself stable enough to get unsupervised visits much less an overnight. I hated going out to see the dwelling and talk to him. But he was on my caseload, and I had scheduled a visit to touch base and try to motivate him. I had a list of additional supports that might help him meet goals—transportation, a mentor, that kind of thing. Judging by the fact that his late model Harley was parked outside the trailer, I didn’t think transport would be a problem.

Something about the guy made me uncomfortable. I had been a social worker for three years with the Child Protection Agency, and he made my alarm sirens go off. It wasn’t just his arrest record from drug charges and domestic disturbances. It was his attitude, like I was his enemy. As hard as it was, I reminded myself to be completely professional and respectful, to show compassion for the fact that he was separated from his child. I climbed the rickety wooden steps to the door of the trailer to knock. Before I got there, he flung the door open.

“You better get the hell off of my porch,” he said, leaning close to me.

I stepped back reflexively, smelling the alcohol on his breath, seeing the aggression in his every move. I backed down the steps.

“Mr. Watts, I’m sorry if this is an inconvenient time,” I began, my voice higher than I would have liked. I was nervous. I couldn’t help it.

“Unless you got my kid in that crap-ass Toyota you’re driving, get the hell off my property.”

“Sir, I see that you’re upset. I’m sure it’s frustrating having to go through this process to reunite with your daughter. I’m here to offer you support services so you can meet the court’s recommendations and speed up the process. Since you didn’t come to the scheduled visit on Tuesday—”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I didn’t have no visit on Tuesday, or I would’ve been there.”

“You were notified by mail, email, and text message. If you look here, you texted me back.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” he said, coming down the steps at me.

He flicked his cigarette to the ground and came toward me, snarling. He was dressed in ratty jeans and a tank top that I remembered referring to as a wife-beater when I was in college. At the time I’d thought it was funny. It didn’t seem so funny with Mr. Watts looming over me.

He was wiry; his long black hair pulled back tight. I felt my breath stutter in fear. I’d dealt with plenty of angry parents, and I’d been able to help them all through building a rapport, a respectful relationship. Not one of them had those cold, dead eyes like he did. When he looked at me, I shivered because he was looking at me the way you look at a thing, an object, not a person. I was nothing, a piece of trash in his way. I backed up some more.

“I’d be happy to set up a visit for you. When do you have time in your schedule?” I said, forcing myself to sound bright and professional.

“I got no time for your bullshit. Get out of here, and don’t come back until you bring my daughter home unless you want your ass beat,” his voice was icy as he backed me toward my car.

It occurred to me that getting out of there was the thing I wanted most. I turned and hurried around my car, got in, and locked the doors. As I looked behind me to back up, I saw him standing at the passenger side, peering in at me. I jumped a little, startled at his closeness, his scrutiny. I wondered for a split second if he was going to bust out my window, drag me out of the car.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Advertisement My Brother’s Best Friends Read Online Natasha L. Black http://www.books2020.com/my-brothers-best-friends-read-online-natasha-l-black Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:56:21 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/my-brothers-best-friends-read-online-natasha-l-black Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

After losing my job for refusing my boss’s disgusting proposition, I had two choices:
Rot alone in my apartment…
Or escape to Sweden—where snow, champagne, and three of the most dangerously attractive men I’ve ever known were waiting.

Guess which one I picked?
Worst. Decision. Ever.
I should have said no to my brother’s invitation.
A luxury ski retreat?
Gorgeous log cabins, crackling fires, and the triplets I’ve crushed on since Highschool—my brother’s three best friends.
Because the Andersons don’t just share the same face, the same panty-melting smirk, the same hands that know exactly how to ruin me—
They share everything.
Including the one secret that could destroy us all.

“There’s zero chance of knowing who the father is. Identical triplets share almost identical DNA.”

The words slam into me like a freight train.
Oh. Hell.
How did I let this happen?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

MAKAYLA

“Hold the plane!”

I sprint, but I’m too late—the boarding gate is already locked.

“I’m sorry, boarding has finished, and we can’t let anyone else on,” a clerk says.

“But I can see it right there,” I tell her, pointing to the jet idling outside the window.

“Boarding is complete, ma’am,” she says, her tone flat.

“Please, you don’t understand. I’m supposed to meet my brother in Stockholm, and if I’m not on that plane, he’s going to be so disappointed. He needs me there,” I say, my voice rising.

She shakes her head. “Would you like me to look for the next available flight?”

“I want a seat on that flight,” I say, jabbing my finger toward the window.

The ticket taker sneers. “Ma’am, do I have to call security?”

I can almost see the dismayed look on Bryan’s face when I do make it to Stockholm. It’s a look I will never be able to live down. As if the universe hasn’t tested me enough these past couple of weeks.

I exhale. “Fine,” I say to the ticket clerk. “I’ll take another flight.”

“Right this way.” She leads me to another computer terminal, then leaves to finalize the paperwork for the flight I just missed.

I drum my fingernails on the counter, impatience thrumming through me. Maybe Bryan’s already settled into the chalet. I hope he’s enjoying the mountain views and good company. I wish I were with him, but I’m staring at an eight-hour flight and who knows how much time before the next plane takes off.

The ticket clerk returns and gives me a tight smile. My heart stutters, still hoping for the best.

“How many passengers will be traveling with you?” she asks.

I look around. “It’s just me.”

“Would you be open to a layover in London?”

“Sure.”

“Great,” she says. “There’s a flight leaving in an hour from Gate A15.”

I exhale. “Thank you.” One hour isn’t so bad. I wasn’t expecting a layover, but beggars can’t be choosers. I grab the ticket from her and hightail it to the right gate.

This time, I’m among the first to board. I make my way to my seat, thrilled that I scored a window. I open the shade to look out at the tarmac. Airport staff buzz around like bees as they load our bags into the plane. I hunt through my carry-on for my earbuds and sync my phone to the plane’s Wi-Fi. I’m all ready to go by the time the last passenger arrives.

The Wi-Fi flickers and the ride turns bumpy, but as long as I can stare out at the clouds and the faint curve of Earth below, I’m content.

During my London layover, I kill two hours nursing a coffee and sampling local pastries, even splurging on a flaky Cornish pasty.

Touching down in Stockholm, I don’t expect anyone to meet me, though I’ve texted Bryan.

“He needs his rest; I’m the one who’s late. I’ve got this,” I tell myself.

I grab my bags, already wishing I’d packed lighter. I haul them up the long ramp to the front door and step inside, barely noticing the shift from outdoor frost to the lobby’s cozy warmth.

The place is stunning with three enormous Christmas trees lighting up the lobby.

Tinsel and tiny white lights sparkle everywhere, and I love how the decorators have kept it professional yet still warm.

“Makayla?”

A gentleman in his mid-fifties approaches, glancing at his phone between steps. At first glance, he looks like a movie-perfect chauffeur. He wears a dark suit and leather gloves, his silver hair neatly trimmed, his smile warm. Right then, my phone pings with a text from Bryan.

“Your driver should be at the airport—Hans. Great guy,” he writes.

“I’m Makayla,” I tell the silver-haired gentleman.

“I’m Hans, your driver. Allow me to take your luggage,” he says.

I can’t help but smile. “Honestly, I’m so tired, I wouldn’t dare stop you.”

“Please, it’s my pleasure.”

I’d almost forgotten how fluent most Swedes are in English; he even nails a faint American accent. Grateful, I let him carry my luggage and follow him across the parking lot to a sleek yet sturdy SUV, its taxi light glowing and license neatly taped to the windshield and rear doors.

He loads everything into the back, then helps me climb in. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s about a two-hour drive.”

“Thank you.” I sink into the seat, doing exactly that.

You’re almost there, Makayla. Almost there.

The Golden Stag crowns a ridge of snow-capped mountains that glitter like diamonds under the starry sky. The sight gives me pause. It’s gorgeous—a blend of classic architecture and modern lighting—and I’ll bet the views are even more breathtaking in daylight.

Hans brings my luggage all the way in, then politely shakes my hand and leaves me to marvel at the even more impressive interior, starting with the sumptuous lobby clad in festive red velvet and gold tinsel. I can’t stop staring at the centerpiece—a massive crystal chandelier that sparkles overhead. Still, I have a bed to crash into, so I look around for the front desk.

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