Page 1 of Caruso

Caruso

If you like men who would tear up the world for you, slay your enemies and crush your demons, meet the Caruso brothers.

I applied for a housekeeping job at The Artemis, the premier hotel in Vegas, otherwise known as my last chance.

I have one final shot at making freedom work and when on my first day I committed murder; I was resigned to it not working out well for me.

Then I met him. Matteo Caruso. The enigmatic owner of the hotel of dreams.

Nightmares more like because rather than turn me into the cops, he turned the lock on my door and trapped me inside his penthouse with two others just like him.

Brothers. Dark, despicable brothers with no life in their eyes; no humanity in their smiles.

All dressed in black to match their aura and they are staring at me as if I am their next meal.

I asked for their assistance. To help me slay my demons, which turned out to be one bad decision with huge consequences.

It’s like asking the devil to teach you the Bible.

Now I’m theirs—one dangerous choice, one stolen kiss, one wicked touch at a time.

When you make a deal with one devil, you lose your soul.

With three?

You just might lose your heart.

This is a dark, why choose, mafia romance filled with danger, obsession, and morally gray men. It contains themes that may be triggering, so step carefully, or don’t step at all. Because if “trigger warning” made your pulse race—you’re exactly where you belong.

Chapter One

Taylor

Imust not screw this up. It’s my last remaining chance, and if this doesn’t work out, I’ve lost it all. I can live without the small apartment on the outskirts of town if I must. I can live without the hour-long commute to work every day and especially the bus ride home when it’s dark. But I can’t with the fact that I will have to move home—back to Oklahoma, back to wherehelives.

“So, are we clear?”

Mrs. Joyce appears to be glaring at me. Have I done something wrong already, and I’ve only just arrived? Is my hair too scruffy, my make-up too thick or my attitude not quite right?

Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been listening to a word she has said because I’m obsessing about not letting her down.

It could be any of the above, and I bite my bottom lip and force an apologetic smile on my face.

“I’m sorry, please can you repeat that last sentence?”

Silence is my answer, and I shift nervously on my seat, trying desperately to ignore the low grumble from my stomach that is reminding me I haven’t eaten in three days.

Her gaze is intense, probing and judgmental. I swallow hard as I grip the hem of my dress and fix a hopeful smile on my face.

“Taylor.” She heaves a deep sigh and, despite my nerves, she is giving off a serious maternal vibe.

“When did you last eat?”

“I, I, um…”

My mind is racing because what is the right answer?

“Don’t answer that question?” She shakes her head, her pitying glance reminding me what a waste of time I am, always am, and she heaves a deep sigh.