Anna Harding's Blog

MAJOR SPOILER for books 2 and beyond so if you haven’t read book 2 (Deceitful Union) yet then don’t read today’s bonus content until you have!

(This is also very sexually explicit today…)

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Leandro

1982

Few people really got Aurelio the way I did. He was considered a ruthless and demanding leader by those who served under him. But to me he would always be the boy I had grown up with. He’d asked me to be his future underboss when we were both in our early teens and I’d never forgotten that he’d chosen to ask me and not one of the sons of the high ranking families.

When I’d asked him why—he told me friendship mattered and there would come a time when he needed men around him he knew he could trust.

I was seventeen when I told my best friend and soon to be boss that I was gay.

‘You’ll need to find someone else to be your underboss,’ I’d said awkwardly.

There had never been an openly gay made man in the mafia and Aurelio was a conservative with strong family values. The mafia were openly homophobic and the penalty for being a gay man had traditionally been death. I trusted my best friend not to go that far but I didn’t expect him to tolerate me playing any role in the organisation he was destined to lead.

‘Why? Aurelio asked, ‘Worried I’ll work you too hard?

‘I’m being serious.’

‘Ok I’m being serious too. Why?’

‘Haven’t you ever wondered why I’ve never had a girlfriend?’ I muttered.

Aurelio shrugged, ‘You struggle to get pussy. I can hook you up with some girls if you want.’

He could indeed. Aurelio was very popular with the girls though I knew they bored him outside the bedroom. Even at seventeen Aurelio had been more interested in his ambition than his sex life.

I didn’t know what the girls saw in him. He was a lifelong friend and I loved the guy but I couldn’t see why anyone would have any romantic interest in him. He was too cold and, if I was honest, too self centred to make anything work with a girl.

Had I not been gay I’d probably have resented all those evenings we spent planning for the future when he was Capo. But it hadn’t bothered me. I didn’t have anywhere else to be.

‘No. Look don’t make this difficult. It’s not about me wanting pussy.’

‘No?’

‘The exact opposite if you must know.’

Aurelio looked at me sharply. A less intelligent man might have needed more of a hint but I saw his quick mind turn it over and reach the right conclusion in seconds.

‘Interesting,’ he mused, ‘I did wonder a few times.’

‘I should have told you sooner,’ I admitted. ‘You’re going to be my boss.’ I caught myself, ‘You were going to be my boss. I get that can’t happen now.’

‘Leandro I fail to see why you preferring cock to pussy means anything has to change. Yes you’ll need to be discreet but most of the old guard will be duped if you date the odd woman in public. Fuck who you like in private.’

I gazed at my best friend in disbelief and he shrugged. ‘It’s not a problem for me. I value your honesty in telling me.’

‘It really isn’t an issue? Your predecessors have killed for less.’

‘Not an issue, no. I don’t get it from an aesthetic point of view though. Presumably because I’m straight. I take it you fucked a few girls to make sure?’

I paused, ‘Actually, no.’

‘You’ve never been with a girl? So how do you know you don’t like it then?’

‘Probably the same way you know you don’t like having your cock sucked by a man. Some things you don’t need to try to know you don’t like them.’

‘I disagree,’ Aurelio replied, ‘How can you decide something like that with no data to back it up?’

‘Well how do you know you don’t like men then?’

Aurelio shrugged, ‘Ok, challenge accepted.’ He sat down and unzipped his pants. ‘Go on then, blow me.’

I was appalled, amused and insanely turned on at the same time. Trust Aurelio to react in a way that no made man could ever be expected to.

‘Seriously?’ I asked him.

‘Get on your knees and blow me,’ he repeated, ‘I want to know what I’m missing.’

I couldn’t believe I was about to suck my best friend off —but I did what he said and knelt in front of him. Aurelio fisted his hand in my hair and dragged my mouth down to his cock. The fact he was already hard gave me confidence that he wasn’t doing this just to humiliate me. I mean he was sitting there in front of me with a hard on for fuck’s sake.

I grasped the base of his shaft and moved my hand up and down while watching his face to see how he reacted. He looked more interested than anything. Spurred on by a desire to turn his scientific interest into something he’d remember for the rest of his life I took his cock in my mouth and started to work it down my throat. I liked it hard and messy with plenty of spit. I may not have his experience with women but this was by no means the first time I’d had a cock in my mouth. I knew what I was doing.

I imagined the girls who usually sucked him off were tentative and gentle. I’d tried it with a girl once. God it had been boring.

I pumped at his cock like my life depended on it. I was rough with my hand and my mouth and I set a fucking hard pace. Breathing faster and harder I took his cock deeper and deeper so it hit the back of my throat. I bet he was used to a gag reflex. But I didn’t have one. He could pound into my throat all day. I fucking loved it.

Even Aurelio couldn’t maintain a neutral expression while I fucked his cock with my mouth. I saw his jaw tense and felt his balls tighten in my hand.

‘Want to come?’ I panted.

He didn’t answer me but put his hand on the back of my neck and forced my mouth back onto his cock. He held my mouth firmly in place with my hair as he shot his release down my throat.

Aurelio sat back with a smile and zipped his pants back up. He grinned at me: ‘I’m probably the first future Capo in history to do that with his underboss.’

I stared at him and then we both burst out laughing.

‘Fuck it,’ said Aurelio, once he got his breath back. ‘I’m not losing my best friend just because you like doing that.’ He offered me his hand, ‘Still happy to work for me?’

I shook his hand. I was more than happy and I’d never admired a man more than I admired my best friend Aurelio Dinelli that day.

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Yep, it’s time for Anton and Serena and these two broke my heart when I wrote it. Of all my characters, nobody wears their heart on their sleeve as much as Anton and nobody is prepared to go through fire for love as much as Serena.

Here’s a peek into their story which is out 13.11.2025.

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January 1989

My father’s expectation that I marry a Russian girl has never been a problem for me.
I like women, but I’ve always found them interchangeable. One attractive girl has always been the same as another for me.

I treat girls well and have never been short of female attention, but I’d never expected to fall violently in love.

However, my views changed the moment I met Serena Caletti.

Serena wasn’t the most beautiful woman I’d ever met—although she was very beautiful. But it wasn’t her appearance that knocked the breath out of me—it was her confidence.

I was used to timid women who were in awe of my position in the Bratva and my reputation for being ruthless. I found them sweet, but they bored me. I was the boss in my work life. I didn’t need a wife who wanted me to play the same role at home.

Serena was the least docile woman I’d ever met. She stared me down as if she expected me to fall at her feet and worship her.

And, fuck, I would have been happy to.

If she’d just been haughty, my interest would probably have lasted weeks rather than months. But Serena was also such fucking good company. I’d never thought of a woman as a friend before. My brothers were my friends. Women were pretty little things I took out for dinner.

But Serena shattered my neat worldview and forced me to see her as an equal.
She demanded the same respect I did—and she got it from me.

My role in the Bratva could be tough sometimes. My father leaned on me more every year that went by, and my brothers always needed a lot of managing—particularly Alexi, who rarely ever managed to go a full week without causing chaos of some kind.

I didn’t want a wife who lowered her eyes with submission when I entered the room. I wanted a wife who would help me shoulder the burden of my role. A wife who could support me.

I wanted Serena.

I met her at the theatre. I’d been dragged along to some asinine show by my latest blonde. I wasn’t interested in the girl or the show, and when she disappeared to the bathroom during the interval, I seriously considered just fucking off back home to play racing games with my brothers.

That’s when I saw Serena arguing with her date. He was clearly pushing his luck by the look of it. Leaning toward her and trying to intimidate her with his height.

I watched them with interest.

The man put his hand on her arm, and Serena drew her hand back and slapped him—hard—across the cheek. His face contorted in rage, and I stepped forward automatically.

‘Do you want to fuck off?’ I suggested calmly.

‘Or what?’ he asked belligerently.

‘Or I’ll eviscerate you,’ I said coolly. ‘I’ll spill your fucking guts on the carpet, and believe me—I wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep over it.’

He went pale and started to back off.‘ Come on, Serena,’ he said, trying to swagger. ‘We’re out of here.’

‘Alone,’ I replied. ‘And quickly—if you want to keep all your body parts.’

I turned to Serena as the pussy ran off. If she’d been submissively grateful, I’d have just told her it was no problem and gone back to my blonde. But she didn’t.

She did the one thing I never would have expected—she threw her head back and laughed.

I stared at her in amazement.

‘Thanks,’ she said with a smile. ‘God, he was an idiot. I really do pick them sometimes. You saved him a whack on his other cheek. I hope he’s grateful.’ She held out her hand. ‘Serena Caletti—and you are?’

‘Err…Anton Kostrov.’ I recovered a little. ‘Anton,’ I repeated.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you,’ she said, clearly amused by my stumbling. ‘Are you enjoying the show?’

‘Kind of…’

‘Really? I thought it was tedious beyond words. I was thinking about leaving at the interval, and now that lunatic’s gone, I think I’ll call it a night.’

‘I’ll take you for a drink,’ I offered, before I even knew what I was saying. But fuck the show. Fuck the blonde. I wanted to spend my evening with this woman.

‘Ok,’ she agreed. ‘In fact, you can take me to dinner too if you like. The halfwit was supposed to be taking me, and I forgot lunch—so I’m starving.’

‘Sure,’ I nodded.

‘Come on, then. I know a really good place on Fifth. We’ll go there. I presume you like Italian?’

‘Yeah.’

I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near an Italian restaurant unless it was under the protection of the Bratva—which very few were. But I didn’t care if every Mob enemy I’d ever made was sitting in the restaurant. I was going to take this woman wherever she wanted to go.

***

‘So what do you do, Anton?’ she asked when our food arrived. ‘You’re obviously in some kind of management role.’

She was shrewd as well. I liked her more and more. ‘I run a few businesses,’ I said evasively.

‘You might know my father, then. Domenico Caletti?’

Fuck. She was related to that Caletti—the high-ranking Mobster. Shit. This really wasn’t a good idea.

‘I know of him,’ I said carefully. ‘But I move in different circles.’

‘Really?’ She rested her chin on her long, elegant fingers and leaned forward. ‘What circles?’

I wasn’t going to lie to her. She deserved more respect than that. And it’s not like she’d be shocked by organised crime if her father was Caletti.

‘I’m in the Bratva,’ I admitted. ‘And I’m fairly high up, too.’

Serena burst out laughing. ‘Didn’t I tell you I pick them?! Only I could meet the only interesting man I’ve met in months, and he turns out to be in the Bratva!’

I was the most interesting man she’d met in months. I liked that.

‘So what kind of things do you do? Similar to my father? All murder and drug smuggling?’

I was used to women who were either terrified by my work for the Bratva or who liked the fantasy of being with a powerful man. Serena fit into neither category. She was just… comfortable with it.

I clearly didn’t intimidate her, but she wasn’t fawning either. She didn’t want me to play the role of hard man. I actually got the impression that nothing I told her would shock her.

‘I organise the gambling,’ I told her.

‘And the whores?’ she asked with a laugh.

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Similar to my father, then. I take it you aren’t married?’

‘No.’ But I fucking would be, if I could ever persuade this girl to accept my ring.

‘Any special girls?’

‘Nope. I left the latest one in the bathroom at the theatre.’ I hesitated. ‘Plenty of one-night stands, but nobody significant.’

‘Well, don’t expect me to be a one-night stand,’ she said, tossing her hair. ‘Though you are rather sexy, so I might be tempted if we go out again.’

‘Do you want to go out with me again?’

‘Why not? But don’t call at the house, whatever you do. My father would die on the spot if a member of the Bratva called on me.’

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Hiya,

Some bonus content this week. Eloise’s feisty daughter, an ornamental dagger, a bowl of ice cream and the Capo dei Capi.

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What could possibly go wrong…?

I’m really enjoying writing the main characters as parents. Though so far none of them seem to be doing a great job! When I finish Tangled Empires (which won’t be for ages as it is going to be 15 books) then the next series will be the next generation. So these glimpses of the children in bonus scenes are setting up their personalities for the future.

Spoilers for Books One and Three (kind of. Nothing you wouldn’t already know/guess from the blurb).

Anna

Eloise
May 1994

My husband had never been welcome in my sister’s home. It wasn’t Rose’s decision—she would have welcomed him in a heartbeat. My sister got on very well with Alexi and all of his brothers. She was diplomatic enough to fit in anywhere, even a rival crime family.

But the history between Aurelio and Alexi was some of the bloodiest there had ever been between the Mafia and the Bratva—and socialising with each other’s families was never going to be an option. Aurelio loathed my husband, and Alexi still mumbled in his sleep about how he’d like to gut Aurelio and cut him into small chunks.

I sighed as Rose opened the door. Like me, she had two children, but she never looked dishevelled, stressed, or even mildly untidy. She was always the boss’s perfect Mafia wife in her pastel suits and tasteful jewellery.

I looked down at my own quickly thrown-together outfit with a wry smile. I didn’t have time to groom myself or spend days in the spa. If I left the house for twenty minutes, I was worried Catriona might blow it up. She’d asked one of her uncles only the other day how to make things go bang. Motherhood was definitely more of a trial for me than it was for my sister.

Catriona flung her arms around Rose excitedly. ‘I’m a big girl now, so I can come to dinner.’

‘She’s here because Alexi won’t spank her, but I will,’ I told my sister. ‘And if she goes a whole evening without being spanked, it will be a miracle.’

‘Still being naughty?’ Rose asked, patting her niece on the head.

‘No,’ Catriona replied decisively. But she let Rose cuddle her. ‘Is there dessert?’

‘If you’re good,’ I interrupted before my sister could promise her the world. ‘If not, then no.’

‘We’re in here,’ Rose told me, stifling a grin, and led me into the dining room.

Catriona hugged Alessandro and Isabella. She loved being the centre of attention with all my family. Alessandro in particular adored her—though I hadn’t forgiven him yet for the set of drums he’d gifted her on her last birthday. Every drum-related headache reminded me of how much I’d like to clang my cousin’s face between two cymbals.

‘Eloise, yet again… what a treat.’

I straightened my back as Aurelio walked into the room. His cold greeting and the malice in his eyes matched my intense dislike of him. I hated my eldest cousin. I especially hated the fact he had married my sister. But there was nothing I could do about it. She worshipped the ground Aurelio walked on. Hoping she would ever leave him was pointless.

‘And you’ve brought your daughter. To an adult dinner party. How charming.’

I gritted my teeth, but Catriona beamed up at her uncle. ‘I’m the karate kid.’

‘It’s her favourite film at the moment,’ I explained. ‘We watch it three times a day… every day.’

‘You’re a little girl,’ Aurelio told her coldly. ‘The karate kid is a boy.’

Catriona glared at him with hostility written all over her little face and then, before I had time to either warn Aurelio or stop her, she karate-chopped him forcefully on his thigh.

‘I am too the karate kid.’

She’d clearly managed to hurt him, as Aurelio limped to his place at the head of the table with a grimace on his face. Rose immediately poured him a glass of wine and whispered something soothing in an undertone—probably apologising for my daughter. I grinned at Alessandro, who had found the spectacle as hilarious as I had.

‘The karate kid?’ he mouthed at me.

We both erupted into giggles but subsided after a stern look from Rose. The Dinelli household revolved around absolute respect for Aurelio, and I doubted karate-chopping fit into my sister’s very definite ideas about how her powerful husband should be treated.

‘Discipline,’ Aurelio stated coldly, ‘should start at a young age. Violence has no place in children.’

‘Yeah?’ Alessandro asked. ‘Might want to teach little Angelina not to chase me round with her hairbrush going bang bang, then?’

‘That’s playing,’ Aurelio snapped. ‘My daughter knows how to behave herself.’

The implication being that mine didn’t? But I didn’t care what Aurelio thought. He was as strict with his very young children as he was with his wife. My poor little niece did know how to behave herself. She’d never been given enough freedom to understand misbehaviour.

I privately vowed to let Catriona take her on one side when she was a bit older and teach her a thing or two.

The dinner dragged on—Aurelio giving a dreary speech about the wine while Rose looked on, enrapt. Sometimes I honestly thought she would just burst into applause when he finished speaking.

This household was so different to mine. If my husband banged on about something for too long, then either myself or one of his brothers would hit him round the head to shut him up. Here, everyone was forced to listen to Aurelio talk as long as he pleased.

I yawned. The subtle oak undertones of an aged Barolo were lost on me.

‘I’m a pirate!’ a little voice piped up.

Catriona, bored of listening to her uncle, had sneaked off and picked up one of the ceremonial daggers mounted on display on the wall. She was swinging it excitedly. ‘I’m going to steal the treasure!’

Before I could say a word, Catriona approached her uncle, brandishing the dagger at him. ‘Give me all your treasure, Uncle Aurelio!’

I’d never seen wariness in my ruthless cousin’s eyes before, but, as my daughter advanced on him with her knife, an uneasy flicker crossed his face.

‘Put it down,’ he told her.

Catriona scowled. ‘I’ll make you walk the plank.’

‘Put it down,’ Aurelio ordered her again.

My daughter’s eyes flashed, and she stamped her little foot. I knew from experience how angry she got when people didn’t play along.

‘You give me the treasure!’ She brandished the dagger at him fiercely.

Rose’s hand went white on the stem of her wineglass, but both Isabella and Alessandro descended into helpless tears of laughter.

Aurelio clearly didn’t find the situation amusing.

‘I have told you twice to put that down,’ he said sharply, an edge to her voice beneath the calm. He wasn’t at all sure what my daughter’s next move was going to be.

I knew I should call her off, but seeing the ruthless head of the Mafia unnerved for the first time was too good to miss. And Catriona wouldn’t actually hurt him… even my little monster knew the difference between playing and murdering. At least I hoped she did. With Alexi as her father, I couldn’t be entirely sure of that…

Catriona planted her feet, chin out. ‘No. Pirates don’t put their swords down. Pirates never—’

‘Alessandro,’ Rose said quietly. The single word wasn’t sharp, but it carried the weight of command.

Alessandro rose in a movement that was half grin, half apology, and crossed the carpet in three easy strides. He knelt and, with exaggerated gentleness, plucked the dagger from Catriona’s small hand as if he were relieving her of a toy rather than a weapon.

‘Maybe let your uncle finish his dinner, eh?’

Catriona pouted but let him guide her away, pretending indignation even as she leaned into his shoulder.

‘Hardly appropriate,’ Aurelio told me coldly.

‘I know,’ I said, heat flooding my cheeks at the criticism. ‘But my children are allowed to play.’

Aurelio’s mouth tightened. I saw Rose reach for his hand and squeeze it, silently pleading with him not to retaliate—my sister, the eternal diplomat.

‘There are methods to ensure situations like that don’t get out of control,’ Aurelio replied. Though he did turn his head to give his wife a soft look. I imagined I’d have had a harsher response if she hadn’t been in the room.

‘Like what? Wine for the adults and a timeout for the pirate?’ Alessandro asked with a grin.

‘Enough,’ Rose said—the word soft but final. She pushed her chair back and stood. ‘We will not argue about parenting over dinner. Please, everyone—eat.’

Unfortunately, Catriona liked having the last word as much as she liked to play.

‘Uncle Aurelio is a pirate, too,’ she announced to the table. ‘He just wears a suit instead of an eye patch. My daddy says he doesn’t bury treasure though—he buries people.’

She beamed round to see how her bombshell had landed as the room fell silent.

‘That’s why I need my dagger,’ Catriona continued thoughtfully. ‘In case he wants to bury me.’

She opened her mouth, no doubt to continue with her little speech, but I cut it short by asking Rose very loudly what the dessert was.

My daughter’s little ears pricked up and she turned to her aunt with interest.

‘Tiramisu,’ Rose replied, smiling down at Catriona’s enthusiastic response. ‘Maybe with a scoop of ice cream for anyone who’s been really good.’

‘I’ve been good!’

‘You sit quietly,’ Rose told her, ‘really, really good and quiet, without bothering Uncle Aurelio any more, and there might even be two scoops of ice cream!’

Catriona clamped her mouth shut and took her seat next to me at the table.

Rose winked at me when the table started talking again. ‘Discipline,’ she whispered. ‘Always second to ice cream.’

And we shared a smile—not just as sisters, but as mothers. Mothers with important, dominant husbands who knew all about commanding their men but didn’t understand the first thing about the immense power of ice cream.

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Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! No spoilers. This happens way before the books in the series.

Anna

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Leandro

September 1977

The new boy looked like he actually wanted to be beaten up. Pressed shirt, blazer that actually fit. Even his satchel gleamed. I’d met boys like him before — arrogant little shits with the confidence you only get when no one’s ever told you to shut up.

Aurelio Dinelli. We’d been told he was joining the school. We all knew who he was, of course — the Capo’s son. The teacher, Mr Peters, was practically falling over himself to get in Aurelio’s good books. Any more special treatment and he’d be offering to polish his shoes. Not that Aurelio’s shoes needed any more polishing.

I couldn’t believe it when Peters sat the new boy down next to me. This had to be a joke. Pretty boy should’ve been at the front with the students who paid attention. I lounged at the back making paper aeroplanes and deciding who I was going to thump at the next break. I wasn’t exactly welcome to the new school material.

Aurelio gave me a nod — more dismissal than greeting — as he sat down next to me. He opened his bag and neatly lined up his books and pencils. I could already tell I’d hate him.

By the time the first lesson ended, I knew I was right. Pretty boy was insufferable. When Peters asked a question, Aurelio’s hand shot up before anyone else’s. He knew everything. He even corrected the teacher a couple of times. I glowered at him. His constant arm-flapping was drawing attention to the desk we shared.

‘Quit it,’ I hissed. ‘Just cool it with the answers.’

‘At least I know the answers,’ he replied smugly.

Then came the project.

‘Pair up,’ the teacher said — the worst thing he could’ve said. I looked round the classroom, trying to catch someone’s eye, but Aurelio turned to me like it was already settled.

‘You’ll write it out,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what to put.’

‘You think you’re in charge?’ I asked.

‘I know I am,’ he said in a bored tone, not even glancing up.

I laughed — a low, dangerous sound that usually made the other kids back off.

‘Maybe in your posh home. But here it takes more than fucking book smarts to be a leader.’

‘Book smarts built the empires you’ll spend your life working for,’ he said coolly. Then, after a beat, ‘My empire. Do as I tell you.’

That was it. I’d had enough of him. I shoved the smug little fucker, sending his books flying off the desk. I threw a punch too, but he blocked it and gave me a cold smile. His reflexes shocked me. Then, with a deliberate look, he reached over and shoved the contents of my desk to the floor.

Peters came running over, almost wringing his hands.

‘Barone. How many times…’

‘He started it, sir,’ I said sullenly.

‘I doubt that.’

‘He threw my books on the floor.’

The evidence was irrefutable. My books were all over the floor. Peters looked like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was give Aurelio Dinelli a detention. But he’d always been a fair teacher.

‘Detention,’ he announced with a sigh. ‘Both of you.’

I gave him the finger under the desk, but Aurelio just smiled — a calculating smile, the kind my cat might give before pouncing on a mouse. Smug little shit probably planned to run home to his father and get the teacher fired.

And I had to do fucking detention with him.

***

The clock dragged. Time always went slower when the rest of the school had gone home. I got detention a lot, so I knew that better than most.

The radiator wheezed every few minutes, and the rain drummed against the windows. Peters had nodded off behind his newspaper. Typical.

Aurelio hadn’t moved since we sat down. No fidgeting, no sighing. I’d never known anyone so still. I’d shifted in my chair, picked my nose, opened my desk with a clatter — and he just sat there, serenely watching me with interest.

After a while, I couldn’t help myself.

‘What?’ I asked crossly.

‘I’ve been working out why you got so angry when I told you to write up our work.’

‘The sight of your face makes me angry.’

‘Witty,’ he said dryly. ‘You struggle with writing, don’t you?’

I glared at him. ‘I’m not thick.’

‘I didn’t say you were,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I said you struggle with writing. That’s why you got so mad. You didn’t want me to know.’

He was right. I could get my head round figures, but words never made sense to me. It was frustrating because I meant it — I genuinely wasn’t thick. I thought about things. I had ambition. But my writing always let me down.

‘You didn’t want to look stupid in front of me, so you tried to hit me instead,’ he went on. ‘Which was interesting. You obviously care what people think of you, and you’re obviously aware of your own deficiencies, so why sit at the back reading comics when you could be learning?’

My instinct was to bite back, but I shrugged. Nobody was listening. I didn’t have to keep up the tough-guy act. ‘I don’t want people to know I find writing hard.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m ashamed of it, ok? Because even the class idiot can put a sentence together, but whenever I write it all gets jumbled up and messy. I spent too much time fucking around in elementary school and I never caught up.’

‘I could teach you,’ Aurelio offered laconically. ‘It wouldn’t be difficult. You’re clearly not stupid. You just can’t write. That’s very different.’

I stared at him. ‘What’s in it for you?’

He smiled. ‘A friend.’

‘A friend?’ I asked warily. ‘With your money and background, you could buy any number of friends. You don’t need me.’

‘There will come a time,’ he said quietly, ‘when I need genuine friends around me — men I can trust. Accept my offer, and be my friend in return.’

He was talking about the future — when he’d be Capo dei Capi, the most powerful man in the Mafia. Aurelio Dinelli might be a spoiled little upstart, but friendship with him could help me realise all my ambitions.

And if he really could teach me to write… it would change everything. Being illiterate had always held me back. Always made me feel worthless. Aurelio was the first person ever to understand that not being able to write didn’t mean I was stupid.

‘You really could teach me?’ I asked hesitantly. ‘You know how to do that?’

‘I can guarantee you’ll be reading better than the rest of the class by the time we move to the next grade.’

That was too good an offer to pass up. I shook his hand, gave him half the candy bar I’d been saving, and we swore eternal friendship.

And from that day, Aurelio Dinelli was my best friend.

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No spoilers for this one. It’s mentioned in Book One that Aurelio taught his sister Isabella when she was at school as she wasn’t doing very well with her grades. I wanted to explore what that looked like. Poor Isabella…

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Isabella

May 1987

I handed my report card to my father, who took it from me in silence. I waited while he read it, then bit my lip as he raised his eyes and looked at me with total disappointment. ‘This is appalling,’ he said quietly.

Alessandro grinned at me across the table. His school reports hadn’t been all that hot either, but he’d scraped through to graduate. His problem was laziness. Alessandro was cleverer than he let people think, but he couldn’t be bothered to put the effort in.

My elder brother held out his hand with a frown and took the card from my father. I was as worried about his reaction as my father’s. Aurelio’s academic history was unblemished. At the age of twenty-two he held two Master’s degrees. He’d skipped more school years than he’d worked through.

I just wished I had a quarter of my elder brother’s brains.

‘This shames our family,’ Aurelio told me coldly. ‘This isn’t underperforming, Isabella, it’s ignorance and wilful stupidity.’

I winced at his words. I’d done my best. I just wasn’t good at schoolwork. I was easily distracted. I was more interested in chatting about fashion with my friends than listening in class.

‘You are failing every single subject,’ Aurelio continued. ‘Unbelievably, you are even managing to fail Italian—a language you are supposed to be fluent in.’

‘I didn’t like the teacher,’ I told him, turning red.

‘Looking at your report, none of your teachers liked you either.’

Aurelio turned to our father. ‘I’ll tutor her,’ he said abruptly. ‘In all the subjects. I expect her to give up her summer, but at the end of it she will be ahead of most of the other students in her classes.’

I gasped. My whole summer? Being tutored by my stern older brother? That was the stuff of nightmares. Alessandro shot me a sympathetic look.

‘Father, I’ll work harder,’ I promised. ‘I’ll pay attention in class. I don’t need that much extra help.’

‘You need it and you will have it,’ Aurelio told me coldly. ‘Our father is the Capo dei Capi. He has standards to maintain.’

‘Father…?’

‘Aurelio’s right,’ my father told me decisively. ‘If your brother is willing to put that much time and effort into you, then you’ll be grateful and accept his help. I don’t need you to be an academic genius, Isabella, but a 0.7 grade point average is not acceptable in this household.’

‘She will work with me full-time for the three-month holiday.’ Aurelio turned to me. ‘Your lessons will begin at 7 a.m., and you will work through to 7 p.m. every day, with an hour for lunch.’

‘Except weekends…?’

‘Including weekends. You have spent your school time on leisure, so now you will spend your leisure time making up for it. We will begin tomorrow. Bring me all your school books and I will contact your teachers for a summary of your coursework and areas of study.’

I groaned and pleaded with Father mutely. I got away with a lot, being his youngest and his little girl. But education was important to him, so he just shook his head.

Grim. Lessons with Aurelio. This was going to be the worst summer ever.

***

I walked drearily into Aurelio’s office with my school books and placed them on his desk. He waved his hand to give me permission to sit, then picked one of the books up and studied it for a few seconds.

‘You have literally no concept of even basic Math, have you?’

It wasn’t a question—it was a statement—so I just shook my head bleakly.

‘You’re even failing Art.’ He picked up my portfolio and flicked through some of my drawings. ‘Yes, I can see why.’

‘I’m not doing badly in History,’ I said defensively.

‘Really? What was the date of the French Revolution?’

I looked back at him blankly. ‘Err… 1890?’

‘Over a hundred years out. Who succeeded the English monarch Queen Victoria?’

‘I… I don’t know,’ I admitted miserably.

‘There are children in kindergarten with a better understanding of history, Isabella. The only reason you manage to remember the Fourth of July is because Mother buys you cotton candy. You’re a disgrace to the name Dinelli.’

I hung my head. This was even worse than I’d thought. I knew he’d be his usual cold and cruel self, but I hadn’t thought I’d end up feeling so small.

He made me feel so stupid for not being good at school. But there were things I was good at. I could sew beautifully. But he didn’t care about that. All he cared about was me passing exams to make the family look good.

‘We will begin with literature,’ Aurelio announced. He slid a book over the desk to me.

‘Read it out loud,’ he ordered.

‘But it’s in Italian!’ I said, picking it up in dismay.

‘Dante Alighieri in the original,’ he said calmly. ‘The foundation of Italian literature. Read it.’

I stuttered and stumbled my way through the first couple of pages while he winced at my pronunciation.

‘Enough,’ he said sharply. ‘I will read each sentence, and you will repeat it.’

By the end of the day we had finished Dante’s Inferno and I was almost thinking in Italian. It wasn’t exactly a fascinating read, but I begrudgingly had to admit that I’d understood the whole thing after Aurelio had explained it section by section. He wasn’t just a brilliant academic—he was a natural teacher. A naturally horrible, strict, relentless, ruthless teacher.

I wondered if he enjoyed discussing literature as much as he enjoyed cutting people up.

When Aurelio finally glanced at his watch and told me the day was over, I crept out of my chair, stiff and aching. I’d wanted to go swimming, but I was too exhausted.

‘Same time tomorrow, Isabella,’ Aurelio told me casually, pushing my books to one side and picking up a folder of whatever his own work was. ‘We’ll begin the basics of Calculus.’

I sighed. This was going to be the worst and longest summer of my life.

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For anyone who hasn’t read book one (Dark Atonement) yet don’t read this until you’ve finished it as it gives away some spoilers!

If you haven’t read book one - here’s the link

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SPOILERS……………………………………………

Alexi
September 1994

I swung my Merc through the security gates into the school car park and smiled at my little girl sitting next to me. She was clinging to her Little Mermaid lunchbox and swinging her legs as she grinned up at me.

‘Looking forward to your first day at school, sweetheart?’

Catriona pouted for a second. Then, ‘No.’

Shit. I was supposed to be reassuring her, making her first day go smoothly. Eloise had wanted to take her, but she’d been told to stay in bed for the last couple of weeks until her due date, so I’d been roped in at the last minute.

I swore under my breath. My wife had told me Catriona was keen to start school.

‘Yeah?’ I asked carefully. ‘Why not?’

I hoped she wasn’t scared. I knew a few of our men, with kids who were terrified of being outside their family walls. And I could understand that. We made our homes into fucking fortresses, drilled into our kids that everyone outside the Bratva was an enemy, then chucked them into school playgrounds and expected them to play nice with the other children.

I was paying a fortune for this school and the security was second to none. But if my little girl was too scared to get out of the car, I’d drive her home and think about another way to get her educated — a private tutor or something. I wasn’t going to leave her in this place if she was frightened.

‘Tell me, sweetheart,’ I pressed. ‘Is it the other children you’re afraid of, the teachers, or being without your mom?’

Catriona looked at me wide-eyed, sucking her thumb, and shook her head.

‘Don’t worry — someone can always come in here to get you,’ I said in the most reassuring voice I could manage. ‘The school have a list of who can collect you. Only me, your mom, Uncle Anton or Uncle Nikolai can take you past the gates.’

She shook her head again.

‘Okay — what is it then?’

‘My new shoes are too tight.’

I stifled an exasperated grin. I should have known my fearless little daughter wouldn’t be worrying about the things other kids did on their first day. I ruffled her hair. ‘Come on.’

‘Daddy,’ she asked, taking my hand as I helped her out of the car. ‘What do I do if the other children are mean to me?’

‘Mean how?’

‘Bad mean,’ she said decisively.

I thought for a moment. I usually left questions like this to Eloise. My own life experience was hardly something I could use to advise my daughter. When someone was ‘bad mean’ to me I gutted them. Or shot them if I was pressed for time.

‘Tell the teacher,’ I suggested. Yeah — that was a good answer. ‘Tell the teacher,’ I repeated, ‘and get them to call me.’

She seemed satisfied with that and we finished the walk to her classroom in silence.

The room was already full when we got there, so I checked the door—teacher’s name on the plaque—and spotted a pretty, young kindergarten teacher in the corner, frantically trying to keep a handful of kids from running riot.

I could have told her how to get every one of their little bottoms on a seat, mouths shut for the rest of the day, but I guessed she’d work it out for herself eventually.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ I told Catriona, bending to give her a kiss. ‘Be good and don’t ask the teacher too many questions about dinosaurs.’

But I was already forgotten. She marched up to a table where three girls were already seated, sank down, opened the lunchbox she was supposed to save until recess, and announced she’d decided to be their friend.

She probably got that level of cockiness from me. I hoped it would do as much for her as it had for me.

***

‘Mr Kostrov…’

I nodded at the pretty young teacher. There was a time I’d have used that wary expression on her face to get her into bed. But there hadn’t been another woman since Eloise, and there never would be.

‘Yeah?’

‘I wonder if I might have a quiet, private word about your daughter?’

‘Sure.’ I followed her to the back of the classroom and gave my daughter a thumbs up as I walked past. She didn’t look distressed or upset, so it was probably just a first-day progress update.

‘Mr Kostrov,’ the teacher said nervously, ‘I’d like to tell you what a delight it is to have Catriona in my class.’

Interesting. In my job, knowing how to read people is paramount. Life and death depends on it. It was obvious to me that— I bent to read the name on her desk— Miss Ellington thought the exact opposite of what she was saying.

‘Has she been good?’ I asked.

Her eyes flickered. Clearly she knew who I was and what I did. Her quick, compassionate glance at Catriona suggested she didn’t want to say anything that might make me angry. Not that I would ever get angry with my kid — I left discipline at home to Eloise.

‘She’s tried her best,’ Miss Ellington told me diplomatically. ‘But it’s been a challenging day for her.’

My eyes narrowed. ‘None of the kids have given her a hard time?’

‘No,’ she replied quickly. ‘More… the opposite, really.’

‘Go on.’

She gave me an apologetic smile while I checked my watch. I’d be here forever before this scared woman told me what was bothering her.

‘We did poster painting today,’ she said, picking some large coloured sheets from her desk. ‘Catriona was very happy about drawing her family.’ She passed me a painting of a stick figure holding what looked like a machete next to a body on the ground.

‘That’s supposed to be you?’ Miss Ellington said quietly.

‘Yeah?’

‘Catriona told the class that…if she has any problems with anyone, she’ll do to them what her daddy does to his enemies. Then she painted that and stuck it on the wall.’

I groaned. Eloise was going to have my balls for this.

‘Catriona has a lively imagination,’ I said lightly, hoping the teacher would drop it, but she just frowned.

‘Mr Kostrov, she then drew this…’ She passed me another picture.

I stared. ‘That’s a pumpkin?’ I asked hopefully.

‘A decapitated head,’ Miss Ellington replied. ‘Catriona told her classmates that if anyone annoys her, she’ll chop their heads off and—’ She flushed and faltered, unsure how to continue. ‘—kick it around like a football. Like…’ She paused.

‘Like her daddy does,’ I finished for her with a sigh.

‘If you could perhaps just have a gentle word…’ she asked timidly. ‘There was a lot of crying this afternoon.’

I’d been a tough kid but I’d have cried too at five years old if one of my classmates had told me they’d cut my head off and kick it around.

‘I’ll talk to her,’ I promised.

‘Perhaps you and Mrs Kostrov would like to discuss it further together?’

‘No,’ I said hurriedly. ‘She’s expecting our third child and I don’t want her stressed. Just leave it to me. I’ll discuss it as much as you want, but let’s keep it between us.’

‘I appreciate you reacting so responsibly. Not all parents do. Thank you.’ She looked so relieved. I grinned to myself. She was probably grateful I wasn’t going to cut her head off and suggest a game of football.

I was just glad she wasn’t going to tell Eloise. Because if my wife ever found out our daughter had been inspired by my behaviour to decapitate her classmates, I’d be drawing my pension before I got her in my bed again.

So for the good of my sex life I vowed to take my forceful little daughter aside and explain that hurting people was never the best resolution to conflict.

I just hoped none of her uncles overheard the conversation — they’d laugh forever if they heard Alexi Kostrov advocating peaceful chitchat as an alternative to violence.

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‘Aurelio.’ Isabella broke off and looked at me awkwardly. She smoothed her skirt and tidied her hair as I looked her up and down.

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‘You’re nineteen, Isabella—not nine. Try to conduct yourself more appropriately.’

She nodded. ‘Sorry, Aurelio.’

I turned to Alessandro. ‘I need you to take our sister to the movies tonight,’ I told him.

‘Sure. What do you want us to see?’

I sighed. It was always hard to tell whether he was being deliberately annoying or just a bit dense. ‘There’s no specific film I want you to see. I just want you out of the dining room tonight.’

‘Why?’ Isabella asked curiously.

Alessandro grinned. ‘He wants to dine alone with Rose, that’s why.’

‘You like Rose?’ my sister asked in disbelief.

I glared at Alessandro. ‘When I tell you something in confidence, I don’t expect it repeated.’

Isabella clapped her hands. ‘You do! That’s wonderful. Are you going to marry her?’

I couldn’t help a slight smile at her enthusiasm. She probably wondered why I’d never shown interest in a long-term relationship before. No doubt, they both hoped marriage would soften me. I doubted it would.

‘Possibly,’ I admitted lightly. ‘So make yourselves scarce tonight while I discuss it with her. Don’t tell her you’re going out either.’

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I won’t lie, I’m a little bit in love with Aurelio. Here’s a sneaky peek at Book Three which is out 17 September.

‘Look, I know she’s off limits. It was a drunken comment. I just feel so fucking sorry for her.’

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I brushed him aside. ‘You’re not a stupid man, Alessandro. I credit you with enough intelligence to know what I’d do if you tried to take Rose off me.’

‘She’s not yours to be taken, Aurelio.’

‘We both know she will be.’ I smiled at him. ‘So why do you feel sorry for her?’

‘You know why,’ he muttered.

‘Enlighten me.’

‘She’s as much in love with you as you are with her. But unlike you, she’s burdened with a sense of morality. She can’t forgive what you did to her siblings.’

‘No doubt our hapless cousins have been filling her ears with horror stories.’

Alessandro hesitated. ‘Would you accept any advice from me?’

I thought for a moment. I generally disliked advice from anyone. But Rose did seem particularly close to Alessandro—so it was always possible he’d managed to get an insight I’d missed.

‘Go on.’

‘Do you love her, Aurelio?’

‘Yes.’

I saw the surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to admit it. But I wasn’t ashamed of my feelings for Rose, nor did I intend to hide from them.

‘Ok,’ he said carefully. ‘If you really love her, then my advice is to let her go back to England. If you make her choose between her family and you, it’ll tear her apart.’

‘Who do you think she would choose if I made her?’

‘Don’t make me answer that…’

‘Alessandro,’ I said, with a warning in my voice.

He sighed. ‘She’d choose you,’ he said reluctantly. ‘If you pushed her hard enough. But it would break her.’

‘I can easily put her back together if she breaks.’

‘You’re so fucking cynical, Aurelio. I don’t want to see her hurt.’

I softened. ‘Nor do I. This isn’t about exerting my power for once. I want to marry her.’

Alessandro gaped at me. But I was telling the truth.

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I’ve been changing my mind a lot about the publishing schedule for my Mafia series. It’s a balancing act between bombarding readers and making them wait longer than they want to for the next book.

As a lot of my readers already know, I work massively in front of my publishing. I’m usually working on a book at least 4 books after the last one published. And I do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly it takes the pressure off. It means I don’t feel under pressure to write to a deadline and I can focus on quality rather than speed.

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Book 5 is a great example of this. I love Book 5 but the first draft was pretty much all murder mystery. It would have slotted into a mystery genre with no issues but it wasn’t fair on my readers who that far into the series expected a dark romance novel. It wasn’t a good fit for the genre I was promising.

I felt the first draft would be a disappointment so I did a massive rewrite to get it back on track. I couldn’t have done this if I was working to a publishing date. I’d have just had to go with it which would have annoyed readers and dented my reputation as a Mafia author. Fortunately I’d given myself time to do the rewrite. It now fits the series and I love it all the more for the changes.

Writing in advance also allows me to make tweaks and amendments as I go. Which reallly helps with foreshadowing. Instead of wishing I’d put something in Book 3 when I’m writing Book 7 I just pop back and add it in. It makes the series feel more cohesive and planned and means I can work more intricate detail into my plots.

So I’ve given my publishing schedule a lot of thought and I’ve committed to it now. Book 3 will be out in September, Book 4 in November and Book 5 in January. (That’s probably when I’ll release the first box set too. And I’ll try and keep prices low and keeep commiting to KU. I’d hate to be in a position where someone wanted to read my books but couldn’t afford to).

So this video is the publishing schedule to mid 2026. My personal Excel spreadsheet goes a lot further… but there may be some changes beyond Book Eight so I’m not ready to confirm past there yet. Book 7 has already been both Book 6 and Book 8 before ending up Book 7. I actually confuse myself sometimes.

But I think we’re there now. So here’s the journey from Dark Atonement to Hidden Emotions. I’ll look forward to taking the trip with you…

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Reader feedback isn’t always easy but it’s a goldmine for any author who is prepared to take it on the chin and listen to what matters to their readers. You can do a thousand polls but one reviewer with 5 minutes on their hands and the inclination to be honest about your book can tell you a lot more about what readers are looking for.

But I’ve found myself very surprised to see what a lot of reviewers choose to focus on. Before publishing my Mafia books I’d always assumed book reviews focused on plot, writing style, characterisation and editing… that sort of thing. I believed the critique was always aimed at the book or the author - not the characters.

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But a surprising number of reviewers seem to take umbridge with the attitudes of the characters themselves. And that confuses me because I don’t feel my characters represent me or any of my views at any level. But both my books and a lot of others seem to be judged not on how we write the characters but on how the characters view the world.

That would probably be ok if I was writing lovey dovey romance. But when my books are about people who lie, kill and torture then there’s a clear danger that these less than salubrious individuals could start to drag my star rating down.

The whole thing about if his wife couldn't handle lying in bed and pushing for a few hours ( while in labor) then no way could she or women in general withstand toughening up procedures used for torture- in reference to why the Bratva dont allow females in their ranks - the MMC pretty much decides his wife is proof that is the right call since she only had to lie in bed during labor & push & so it's obvious she can't handle pain.

Like I seriously COULD not believe a woman wrote this??

The quote above is from a recent review. (No offence to the reviewer, it was an interesting and informative piece and I was grateful they took the time to write it.)

But…what or who is this criticism actually aimed at? The character in question *Alexi* is a misogynistic male with little experience of women outside the bedroom. He’s arrogant, self centred and uses sex to replace meaningful interaction. He starts the book looking for women on the internet to hook up for non con sex games and doesn’t get much better by the end of the book. My point being he is supposed to be like this. He isn’t a decent man who I’ve accidentally portrayed badly. He’s meant to be a chauvenistic little prick.

The reviewer hates him. Great. I get that. She’s got too much self worth to hang around with a sexist pig like Alexi. I respect that. But isn’t her intense dislike of the character down to the way I’ve written him? When she says I could not believe a woman wrote this, is she implying I should only write characters who share my views? Is she saying a woman couldn’t or shouldn’t write a sexist character?

If she’s saying a woman couldn’t write such sexism then she needs to up my stars because I could, I did and I will again.

But if she’s saying a woman shouldn’t write such sexism then that begs some really interesting questions. Should an author only write characters who represent their own worldview? Should an author only write what they know?

I’m not in the Mafia, I don’t kill, maim or torture. I’m not insanely rich or evil and I don’t even live in America. Yet its fine for disbelief to be suspended when it comes to all that but its problematic when my characters express views that I wouldn’t want to?

I hope the reviewer isn’t telling me to only write characters who share my beliefs. Because, frankly, it would result in some very boring books. I’ve got a very live and let live outlook on life so if all my characters reflected me they’d all just be skipping through meadows and singing Kum ba yah to each other. Great world to live in but my readers would all DNF before they turned the first page.

Creating characters who think differently to me is all part of the writing package that I enjoy so much. I love to get inside their heads, explore the individual motivations of my characters and work out what makes them tick. Writing the sexists, the racists, the perverts, the bigots, the haters and the liars is fascinating precisely because they are so different to me. I’m writing fiction, not my autobiography. I love my loathsome toerags!

I’ve probably lost that reader after sexist Alexi and that’s probably not a bad thing as there’s a lot worse to come. If she didn’t like Alexi’s views on women she’d spin her head a full 360 if she met Simon Nemov at his worst in book four. She might not like Leandro in book two and she’d be hopping mad at Aurelio in book three!

There may be authors out there who only write characters they identify with but that’s never going to be me. Scoundrals and scumbags are my stock in trade. I craft my characters with care and precision to be individuals in their own right. Some I love, some I hate but all have been created for a purpose.

Because that’s all writing is, really, just telling stories about people you’ve made up.

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