📖 Book Details
Genres: Dark Romance, Cartel Romance, Mafia Romance, Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Crime Romance
Heat Level: Scorching Hot/High Spice 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️
Tropes & Dynamics:
- Anti-Hero Stalker
- Forbidden Romance (Seducing Friend’s Little Sister)
- Protective Alpha Boyfriend
- High Stakes/Organized Crime Ring Danger
- Second Chance at Life
- Standalone Novella (Lozano Cartel Series, Book 3.5)
Ángel latched the squeaky iron gate behind him and crept across Marisols darkened front yard. The soothing droll of crickets masked the sound of his footsteps while the overgrown trees, shrubs, and cacti at the far property line shielded him from any nosy neighbors. Not that she had any in this quiet, working-class neighborhood on the citys outskirts. As he braced himself against the side of her house, the rough stucco scraped his jacket and the back of his head as it always did. Yellow light poured from the living room window in horizontal beams as though to expose him.
Fuck that. He wasnt an amateur.
Faint music seeped from inside the house.
He smirked, willing to bet his bank account that Marisol was streaming reruns of her favorite telenovela. Desperate for a glimpse of her, he pressed closer toward the glass pane and peered through the slatted blinds.
Inside, Marisol was bundled under a thick red-and-green checkered quilt on the sofa and cheered like a love-struck teenager over something that happened on the TV.
Damn right. He knew his woman well. From the high-stakes story lines to the nineteenth-century period costumes, Las Sombras del Imperio had found its way into countless living rooms across the country. Including his own.
After the program ended, Marisol turned off the television and grabbed her dinner plate and glass.
He darted around the house and ducked under a mesquite branch in the side yard. The crisp breeze rustled through the leafy branches, swept back his hair, and chilled his skin. Gritting his teeth, he huddled deeper into his denim jacket. His thick, cable-knit shirt caught against the hard ridge over his collarbone, irritating the taut skin. A deep, metallic chill radiated from the inside out, numbing the fracture site with a dull ache. He yanked the collar away from his neck and cursed.
Light now streamed out from the kitchen window.
As the rambunctious mutt next door yapped at something stirring in the bushes, Marisol peered out the glass into the darkness. Fine lines crimped her face.
Ángel slunk deeper into the shadowy foliage. Once she focused on washing the dishes, he swiped a branch out of his way and rolled his tight, sore shoulders. A low grunt tore from his mouth.
Distant laughter rang out, disrupting the tranquility of the night.
He tsked, shaking his head. The university-aged kids who lived in that dingy house at the end of the street were partying again. It was only Thursday, for fucks sake. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if he had any room to judge. At twenty-eight years old, hed surely partied harder than those guys down the block could imagine.
He pulled his phone from his jeans back pocket and checked his notifications. Nothing from Raul. Or Muniz. What the hell was going on with them? He slid the cell back in.
A crash echoed from the other side of the house.
Ángel jerked upright.
Marisol flung her dish towel aside and raced out of the kitchen.
“Mierda,” Ángel dashed back around the house and snatched his gun from his hip holster. His pulse thundered in his ears. Icy dread slashed through his stomach.
The front door hung open.
“Get out!” Marisol shouted from inside. Something shattered. “Get out of my house!”
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