I didn't see it coming, didn't realize how different everything would be within the space of a month. I would fall in love with one man, I would kill another, and I would lose my body, my mind, my soul - my freedom to them. I was an operative, a strong woman, someone sent in to save others, but under these two men I became weak - or pretended to be. I didn't like being weak, it angered me. If I had free rein I could cut my masters in two. But I wasn't there for pride, I was there to free those women and to take down the two men who sold them as sex slaves.
Those men needed to be punished
And I would do it
No matter the cost
Or how much I lost
Because I am Rita Kovak
MY MASTERS' NIGHTMARE
This is the collection for a mafia series that has had success both in English and Italian. Please checking it out on Amazon.com, Amazon.it and Goodreads.
1
RITA
I walked into the hotel bar knowing there was a strong chance that I would be drugged and kidnapped by the end of the night. Which was exactly why I was there. And why I’d slipped on the little black dress with two slits up the side, anything to encourage it to happen. I paused to look around the room, aware I was being watched by more than just the men in the bar. Four surveillance cameras were positioned at strategic points, my co-workers watching from outside of the New York hotel, where only the rich and infamous stayed.
A blond man pushed off a barstool and headed for me, his cream-colored Versace suit suggesting he was a cut above the rest of the patrons. He looked familiar, possibly a movie star from one of the many films I didn’t have time to see, my job as a FBI agent all-consuming, which was the way I preferred it, so I didn’t have time to think about my husband. I held up my hand before the man could get a word out, showing him the wedding ring I refused to remove, the diamond encrusted band lovingly designed by my husband, who’d been killed by the very people I was going to take down.
To my surprise the man bowed, then returned to his seat, allowing me to get back to my work. My gaze moved to the end of the bar, where I hoped Jagger D’Angelo was still sitting—my predator, my target, the bait for unsuspecting women. And he was the perfect bait, the man so beautiful he could’ve stepped right out of a Versace catalogue, the suit looking even better on him than the actor who’d approached me, the light material covering him a tease to the senses. The mob certainly had picked well, because Jagger was a work of art.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Veronica Picone
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Maria Lidia Lima
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Author review: An excellent translator, I highly recommend her. |
