Blurb：
When enforcer Rook Townsend kidnaps sharp-tongued heir Leander Halifax in a botched turf war move, he unwittingly chains himself to the crime prince he’s sworn to destroy. Now bound as Leander’s personal bodyguard under Orson Bishop’s orders, Rook navigates a deadly masquerade—protecting the man he should’ve killed while battling explosive tension that threatens both their guarded secrets.
In Sable Harbor’s glittering penthouses and blood-stained docks, loyalties shift like poisoned knives. The Halifax Charter’s ruthless legacy clashes with forbidden attraction as Rook’s ironclad control cracks under Leander’s merciless wit and calculated seduction. But when Bishop demands Leander marry to secure a mob alliance, their fragile truce fractures.
Survival means choosing between the crime dynasty that raised them or a dangerous truth that could drown Sable Harbor in flames.
Content：
§01The man tied to the chair had the kind of jawline that could cut glass, which was a real problem when all I wanted to do was punch it.
He sat there, wrists bound behind him with a pair of heavy-duty flex-cuffs, looking less like a captive and more like a king surveying his slightly disappointing throne room.
Which, in this case, was a damp, anonymous warehouse in Sable Harbor’s less-than-scenic docklands.
My territory.
My problem.
“You know,” he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that was entirely too calm for someone who’d been snatched off a quiet street an hour ago, “the decor is a little underwhelming. I was expecting more... skulls, maybe? A flickering bare bulb? You guys are really phoning it in.”
I ignored him, checking the knots on his ankles for the third time.
They were solid.
The intel had been clear: a high-value target from an out-of-town crew trying to move in on The Halifax Charter’s turf.
A pretty boy with expensive taste and a penchant for wandering alone.
Name: unknown. Importance: critical.
Orders from one of The Bishop’s rivals, passed down through a frantic, paranoid lieutenant: “Get him. Make him talk. Do it quietly.”
So I did.
Now, looking at the sharp cut of his designer suit—a charcoal gray that probably cost more than my car—and the unnerving confidence in his dark eyes, I felt a knot of unease tighten in my gut.
This felt too easy. Too clean.
I pulled up a metal stool, the sound scraping harshly in the silence, and sat opposite him.
“Here’s how this works,” I said, my voice flat, the one I used for business. “I ask questions. You give answers. The more you cooperate, the less this has to hurt.”
He actually smiled. A slow, infuriating curve of his lips.
“Go on then. Dazzle me.”
“Who do you work for?”
“My tailor, primarily. A delightful man named Alberto. Do you need a referral?”
I leaned forward, my patience fraying. “Don’t be a smart-ass. Your crew. The one trying to muscle in on Sable Harbor.”
He tilted his head, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his expression. “Is that what this is about? A turf war? How delightfully quaint.”
My hand twitched. Punching him would be counterproductive. But satisfying. Deeply satisfying.
Download the Novellia app, Search 【 874450 】reads the whole book.
The End