Saved By The Hitman Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46111 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Saved By The Hitman

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

Book Information:

I’ve finally found a life worth living when the Bratva targets me for execution. I’m working as an event planner with my best friend, Patricia. I’ve got a beautiful little Chihuahua, Rebel.
Things are looking up.
But then my whole world is turned bloody and violent. The Bratva sends a hired killer to take my life—Jett Jackman, a forty-two year old man dripping in experience, his hair iron, his massive body rock hard with muscle.
I don’t stand a chance against him. This ex-SEAL is going to make quick work of me.
But instead of carrying out his orders and taking my life, Jett does what a hitman is never supposed to do. He refuses. He rescues me and, together, we go on the run from the Bratva.
I don’t know why he’d take such a risk for me. With his square jaw and his azure eyes, the faint silver shadow of a beard glistening on his cheeks, he wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of GQ. I’m curvy and shy and naïve and I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I’m a virgin to top it all off.
What the heck could he want with me?
All I can do is try to keep myself alive. Or at least that’s what I think at first. Then one night he comes to me, this seven-foot alpha, and he tells me the real reason he took me away from the Bratva. I can hardly believe it when he says that he wants me, all of me, that I belong to him now. He owns me.
And then Patricia reveals a secret that threatens to shatter everything. I always thought my parents died in a fire when I was young. That’s why I’m an orphan. A terrible mistake. But the truth is much more sinister.
Can we get through all the heartache and pain to finally claim our star bright future? I don’t know. But I’ll never stop fighting for it.
Books by Author:

Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


I walk around the ballroom, feeling out of my element. This isn’t my usual kind of job – with the bright chandelier glinting from the ceiling, the happy chatter of the party guests, the jazz band filling the cavernous room with their music from the corner – but it’s my last.

So I have to do it.

Then I’m done with this life.

I make sure to circulate and make small talk with the guests, using my false identity. These are all Wall Street types, and so that’s what I become. My name for the evening is Michael Chandler and I’m a trader of money, just like them.

I wonder how quickly their faces would change from friendly to terrified if I told them I usually trade in bullets and blood.

I don’t sip on the champagne which is stuck to all the guests’ hands. I just want to do my job and get out of here as quickly as possible, disappear from the East Coast forever, find somewhere quiet where I can forget about this life.

I search the men for any signs of depravity as I wander the room, pretending to take sips from my perpetually-full champagne glass. I’ve always drawn the line at killing anyone who doesn’t deserve a bullet between the eyes.

I take out the trash—the rapists, the killers, the scumbags.

I do it for a fee, so maybe that makes me no better than my quarry.

But fuck it. This is the life I’ve chosen.

I can lie to myself and say I was forced into it, but only weak men make excuses.

I end up in the far corner of the room, waiting for the burner cell to buzz from my inside pocket.

Usually, my contact – the contact, the man who runs all the high-level hits on the East Coast – will give me the details several days in advance so that I have a chance to prep. But this job is different.

Two days ago, he called me, using a voice changer like he – or she – always does.

“You’re going to attend a party,” I was informed. “You’re going to circulate, smile, be as friendly as a big bastard like you can be. At some point in the night, you’ll get a text with an image attached. That’s your target.”

“What did they do?” I ask, my usual question.

I have to be able to live with myself after all the gun smoke has drifted away.

But this time, my contact wouldn’t tell me.

“If you do this, you’re free and clear. We won’t hunt you. We won’t kill you. You’ll be a free man, Jett. So just do your goddamned job.”

“You wouldn’t talk to me like that if you were here,” I noted coldly.

The alien voice warbled as he laughed. “No, maybe not. But I’m not there, am I? So just do your job.”

I had to take a few long, deep breaths once the phone call was over, stilling the fire that flares constantly deep inside of me. There are caverns of violence within me, constantly firing, burning deep, my rage bubbling in a hellish boil just beneath the surface.

But tonight I’m Michael. I wear my most convincing face. I even try to smile.

The worst of the small talk comes from the women, draped in their glittering dresses, the bodies they’ve starved for the occasion shamelessly on display.

One of them – a tall redhead who might rock another man’s world, but does absolutely nothing for me – even hits on me in front of her husband. The man is short and balding and looks as if he’d crumble at a weak jab to the face, but that doesn’t excuse the behavior, the disloyalty.

A woman should be loyal to her man, just as a man should be willing to die for his woman.

“I guess you work out, hmm?” the redhead says, reaching forward as if she’s going to touch my arm.

I glance at her husband, waiting for him to do something, say something, but his cheeks just bloom the same color as his wife’s hair and he stares bitterly at the floor.

Disgusted, I make my excuses and continue my circulation of the room, like the blood pumping around a body.

Which one of these sorry bastards am I going to put in the dirt tonight?

I don’t like not knowing what he’s done. It niggles at the edge of my mind, telling me this is wrong. I need to find out if he deserves the punishment I’m going to dish out to him.

Another circuit of the room brings me close to the stage. The band is taking a short break, the soft background music being played from speakers dotted around the room now.

I’m already tired of being here and it’s only been forty-five minutes, my patience wearing wire-thin at the prospect of spending even another minute here.

These people are Olympic-grade shit talkers and it’s starting to piss me the hell off.