Texting My Mafia Temptation Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)

He kidnapped me to save me, but now we must fight our desires, or risk losing everything.
As a mafia princess, I have no choice when my father arranges my marriage to a terrifying stranger. But there’s someone even more dangerous: Dante Bianchi, the devastatingly handsome, ripped, and intensely brooding mafia enforcer working security the night my husband-to-be goes too far.
To protect me, Dante must make me disappear. Trapped in his luxurious penthouse prison, with only a cell phone connecting me to the outside world, the simmering tension between us boils over into steamy encounters that make me question if I truly want to escape.
But as we return to reality, we must bury our secrets. Can we hide the truth of that fateful night, or will the Family discover that Dante Bianchi killed a man for me, and tear us apart forever?

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



“I need your phone,” he says fiercely, his tone dark. When I turn to him, he’s shaking all over, with flecks of blood on his shirt and suit jacket. There’s something in his eyes, the way he looks at me like he wants to kiss me. Even now. Even after everything.

I don’t know him, not really—Dante. Did he save me, or is he going to hurt me? It’s all such a blur. My heart pounds hard while a small, insane voice is telling me to grab him, kiss him—my kidnapper.


He approaches me slowly, his hand in front of him, his eyes fixed in that intense way he has. It’s what I noticed first when he finally managed to drag himself to a party. Standing at the door, greeting people, I saw the way he stared, glared, like he was pissed at the whole world. Yet when he looked at me, there was a flicker of something.

I don’t know him—not really. There’s a dark part of me that just wants to let this happen, let Dante make me his. But he killed somebody like it was nothing. I blink. The shock makes my stomach tight and my body hurt. He hasn’t got flecks of blood on him. That’s a brushstroke of pain distorting my vision.

“Please, please help!” I turn and run into the apartment, grabbing my phone from the fold in my dress, where I managed to wedge it. I need somebody to save me from Dante, but only because I want him so badly, even now. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with us?

Suddenly, he’s right next to me. He moves so fast. His big hand grabs the phone, and he shows his true colors. He throws it against the wall. I cover my eyes, but not because of the phone. Because of him. Because I want him, and I know it’s wrong. This is wrong.

Does that make me wrong?

He glares down at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. We’re so messed up. We’re not like the others. I want him to grab me, kiss me, pull me tight against him.

He leans down and grabs the phone, taking the SIM from the crumpled plastic. He snaps it, looking at me almost guiltily. I have to focus hard not to start hyperventilating.

There’s a pad on the wall next to the elevator: lockdown.

He’s always calling me princess, and now he’s trapped me in his penthouse prison like some messed up fairy tale.



“You should go to the party,” Mom says, looking over at me from her armchair. Her knitting rests on the end table beside her. Sometimes, the Crohn’s disease will leave her alone just long enough to let her do something she loves, but now, from the way she’s wincing, I can tell it’s twisting her up. The abdominal pain is a cruel bastard.

“I’m fine here, Mom,” I tell her, placing my phone down.

Colt just called and invited me to a Marino shindig. “Everybody’s going to be there,” he said, sounding much happier than when I first met him. It’s been almost a year since the craziness with the Serpents when he saved my ass in that dim cellar.

“You can’t spend your whole life sitting around in this depressing apartment with me,” Mom says as sternly as she can, which isn’t saying much since every word is an effort.

In my memory, Sofia Bianchi is a fierce, capable woman, strong in every sense of the word. She’s still strong. Her condition hasn’t beaten her, but I can tell it’s tough for her not to give in sometimes.

“This place isn’t depressing,” I say, trying for a smile, which always feels like an effort. “Look, I got flowers.”

Mom looks over at the roses on the windowsill. Despite my best efforts to keep the apartment somewhat optimistic, it’s true; it’s grim. I’m no decorator. My other apartment—the safe house I use for business—is even more bare. It’s like a military barracks.

“Ah, they’re beautiful,” she murmurs, then winces, her hand on her stomach. “Please, Dante.”

“I can’t leave you⁠—”

“Dante,” she cuts in almost desperately. “You’re a thirty-seven-year-old man. You can’t dedicate your life to your mother.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Ma,” I tell her. “I just want the best for you.”

“Then listen to me. You have a chance to live. I’ve been selfish for too long, treating you like my personal caretaker.”

“That’s dramatic. It’s not like I’m your nurse. You’ve got a nurse.”

“Ah, yes, a money sink,” Mom groans. “You’re spending every dime on keeping me as comfortable as possible, and I’m grateful, but you matter, Dante. Your happiness matters. We both know what would be better…”

She’s talking about a home. Maybe she’s right. It hurts me even to think about it.

Mom doesn’t understand that there’s a dark pit inside of me, swallowing anything positive. She doesn’t understand that I only feel a flicker of positivity when I’m on a job and hurting people. It makes me a sick fuck, but I don’t care. I can’t care.