Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
You take from me, and I destroy the thing you love most. Everyone knows that's how I operate. So when the head of the Irish mob puts his filthy hands in my business, it shouldn't come as a surprise when I put mine on his pretty little daughter.
I expected a jaded Irish princess, not an innocent little lamb. But there's something about Brynna Sullivan that's magnetic, drawing me to her light. I don't want to destroy it. I want to claim it as my own…wreck her, and then put her back together again.
But this fiery little princess isn't naïve. She knows exactly who and what I am. And convincing her to fall for a monster like me?
Well, it'll take all-out war.
But this is one battle I intend to win, no matter what it takes. I just didn't expect it to be my own people who betrayed me in the end…
God of War is a dark mafia romance featuring an unapologetic villain, a strong, curvy heroine, and all the spice. Can Naz and Brynna overcome the odds stacked against them and find forever together, or will their fierce connection crumble under the weight of their reality?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Naz
"What is this?" I ask, flicking my gaze up from the report Nicolas Arias just placed on the desk in front of me.
"The report you requested, príncipe."
I draw a deep breath, a muscle in my jaw ticking with impatience. "The last time I checked, I was buying this company. So why is Nolan Sullivan now listed as the owner of record?"
"Ah, he is playing dirty games again." Nicolas sneers, his full lips twisting as he relays the news. "He bought the company out from under you."
Jesus Christ. That's the third time this year that Nolan Sullivan has messed with my shit. As soon as I set my sights on a company, he sweeps in and snaps it up. It's beginning to piss me off.
I don't fuck with the Irish mob and their businesses. I'm not sure why Sullivan has made it his mission to fuck with me and mine.
"And how did he find out I put in an offer on Roheim International, Nicolas?" I growl, drumming my fingers against the calendar on my desk. That's the important question as far as I'm concerned.
Being cut out once is random. Twice could be a coincidence. But three times in a year? That's intentional. It's a fucking declaration of war.
Nicolas hesitates for a long moment, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip like he always does when he's about to deliver news he knows I won't like. The man is nothing if not predictable. "I believe he has people on the inside, Naz."
"A fucking rat," I say, wanting it spoken plainly. No need to beat around the bush. Nolan Sullivan is fucking with my money. And someone on my payroll is feeding the motherfucker the information to do it.
"I believe so." Nicolas grimaces, his heavy brows furrowed over sharp hazel eyes. "It isn't like when your father was barón, príncipe. Loyalty is everything, but some of these Americans have no concept of the word, no? They blow where the wind takes them."
I eye him levelly, my patience dwindling in the face of his familiar complaint. I've heard it a dozen times in the last two months alone.
Nicolas Arias dreams of the glory days when my father led our family. Unfortunately for him, the glory days died when my father, his wife, and my half-siblings were murdered by Felipe Rojas and his men, leaving me the only remaining heir to the Leyva empire.
To save me from the same fate, my mother—my father's American mistress—insisted I be raised in the country that birthed me. Nicolas has been stuck here since I was a teenager, dreaming of home. I was born here. I've lived here exclusively since I was eleven. I lead from my goddamn throne here—safely out of reach of Rojas and his cartel. Nicolas conveniently forgets all of that when lodging his complaints, however.
He's the only one who would dare—my oldest friend, my closest advisor. He's both the angel and devil on my shoulders.
"And I suppose the wind took them and my business dealings to Sullivan?" I ask, eyeing him levelly.
"It appears so." His lips twitch with amusement. He's trying to be funny, but I'm not laughing.
I crumple up the report, tossing it in the trashcan beside my desk. "Find out who the fuck is leaking my information, Nicolas," I growl. "I want them dealt with now."
He hesitates, opening and closing his mouth like he has something to say.
"That wasn't a suggestion," I snap, not in the mood for whatever other bullshit he's going to toss my way. I needed that fucking company to help facilitate product shipments into international ports. With recent crackdowns, moving our product out of Colombia has gotten more complicated. The more ships we have moving legitimate products, the easier it is to hide the things we need hidden—like the drugs and money.