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Free to do whatever he wants with that redhead and, hopefully, find the mercy he’s been searching for when he looks in the mirror.
I miss you, D.
Freedom, love. He deserves it all. As long as he survives.
more books by melanie kingsley
The Balestra Family
His Deadly Lies
Empire Bay
Love After Never
Love After Darkness
first look at his deadly lies (balestra family book 1)
* * *
I’m marked for a life that will doom me to lead.
I know all about duty because I’ve been trained since birth. To play my part. To rule. Marriage to a rival family will only ensure our success.
Except someone is hunting me, and Carter is the only thing standing in their way, making sure I survive.
He’s lethal, determined, and obsessed with loyalty. He’ll sacrifice my happiness for his family. This cat-and-mouse game between us has no rules and leads to only one inevitable end.
I’m on my own.
I know one thing for sure: falling for his deadly lies will get me killed, but I don’t have a choice.
If you like the sensuous bite of Kresley Cole, Holly Renee, C.R. Jane, and K.R. Knight, then you’ll devour this start to Melanie Kingsley’s dark, brilliant new mafia series.
chapter one
MIA
There are plenty of places for a woman to hide a weapon in a skin-tight, low-cut dress. If she’s dedicated enough.
It always surprises me how many men don’t realize this simple fact.
The dress might leave little to the imagination, but that means nothing if she’s packing with intent.
“What do you say, baby?” The man sidles closer to me, his dark eyes lit with an inner fire that means one thing.He thinks he’s going to get some pussy tonight. “How about you and I go back to my yacht, and I’ll show you all the secret places?” He leans in closer, inches away from sliding his nose along my cheekbones, his hand creeping closer to my inner thigh.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. His yacht is a lie.
Everything about the picture he presents is a fucking fallacy.
Around us, the rest of the room is gilded in gold. Even the plants have been specially picked out to accentuate the lush fabrics, the ludicrously expensive decor. The chandeliers overhead are kept low, the light just enough to see the drink in front of you and your partner’s features without noticing the glaringly obvious details.
Like the weak chin.
Or the plugs along his hairline to match.
The man who grabbed the stool at my side is a guest I’ve never seen before, and he blows right past the line of propriety and respect and lands in my personal bubble as if he has a right to be there. “We can drink champagne and enjoy the night,” he cajoles. “Together.”
