📖 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)
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!”
Ángel darted across the threshold and skidded on the bunched-up entryway rug. The shards of a broken glass vase crunched under his boots.
Marisol cried out as a short, broad-shouldered thug grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pinned her backside against his front.
Carajo. Bruno Serna. What the hell was going on?
“Calm down, bitch,” Bruno snapped at her as she struggled. “Just wanna talk.”
“Fuck you!” She elbowed him in the ribs and ripped free.
He groaned and backhanded her across the face.
“Ahh!” She struck the armchair before she toppled to her knees.
Hell, no. Ángel holstered his weapon, then tackled Bruno from behind and slammed him against a large bookshelf. Several paperbacks and Christmas trinkets crashed down around him. Bless the saints. The decorative rose-gold urn that held Marisol’s mother’s ashes only teetered.
“Run, Marisol,” he shouted as he flipped her assailant around and punched him.
“Ángel?” Marisol scrambled back up.
Bruno twisted away and threw a hard right hook, catching Ángel across the jaw.
Stars flashed in Ángel’s vision. Fiery heat infused his face. He ducked Bruno’s next swing, snatched the man by his black hoodie, and flung him face-first against the closet door.
A decorative, engraved wooden crucifix crashed to the floor.
“Motherfucker. Have you gone crazy, Rascón?” Bruno flipped around and stomped forward, stepping on the fallen cross. The wood snapped. “¡Carajo!” He kicked the crucifix so hard that it slammed into the lit artificial Christmas tree, shattering a few ornaments on impact. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Crimson smeared his tattooed knuckles. The glow of the overhead light deepened the dark ink of the serpents on his corded neck and shaved head.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ángel spat the words, his breath puffing white. The cold air rushing in through the open doorway rustled the curtains at the sides of the window and clacked the plastic blinds against the glass pane with a heavy foreboding that scratched along his spine like gravel on steel.
“Me? What about you?” Bruno glared at him, chest heaving. “This is my assignment.”
“Assignment?” Marisol stepped up beside Ángel and clasped her flushed cheek. Then she pointed at her attacker. “You’re the guy from the hospital. The one Enrique ordered to guard Ángel’s room.”
Bruno arched his bushy eyebrow at Ángel. “She’s gotta be kidding me. That’s your name—Ángel? No wonder you go by Rascón. Angels get pissed on in our line of work.”
Ángel scowled. “You won’t survive the next five minutes if you don’t tell me why you broke into Marisol’s home and assaulted her.”
“I want to know why you’re both here,” Marisol cut in, “but all right, let’s start with you.” She narrowed her gaze at the intruder and hooked her messy hair behind her ears with shaky hands. “Why did you break in? Why did you grab me? What is this assignment?”
Bruno barked a short laugh and flung up his arms in surrender.
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