Roman Republic

We spent weeks planning this trip to Sicily together. And I was damn sure going to enjoy it, even if my lying, cheating boyfriend just abandoned me. I push aside self-pity to venture out and take photographs. Later, I lock eyes with a stranger at a bar. This tattooed god, Constantine, is way out of my league, but to my surprise, he’s all in—every inch. And up in his hotel suite, he claims me for his own. Over and over again.

The city of Taormina calls to me—but Constantine possesses me, body and soul. Not just because of those chiseled abs and glorious tattoos my photographer’s eye can’t help but admire. Or the man’s utter devotion to his dog. But because he always stands up for me. He saved my life once. And he’d do it again. His ruthless brand of justice inspires terror on the streets of Rome. But in his arms, I shiver for a different reason. So when he asks me to move in after just six weeks, I’m ecstatic. And conflicted.

I fell in love with the most dangerous man in Rome, knowing exactly who he was. And he fell for me too, knowing one day he’d have to choose: me or his empire. He chose me. As brutal as it was, I thought his exile would be good for us. I thought we’d find peace together in a small village outside of Rome, in the comfort of running his family’s restaurant and the promise of our future. In the life growing inside me. But there’s no peace for a man like Constantine.