Brooklyn Brothers

Lace and Lies (Brooklyn Brothers #1)

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There's a fine line between attraction and obsession.

And he's about to cross it.


We are the Rossetti’s.
The exiled “sixth family” of the New York mafia. We’re the good guys.
People don’t fear us…much. They respect us.
The five of us? We’re the Brooklyn Brothers.
And we protect what’s ours.

Jasmine Kingston should run from me. I mean, she should literally pick up her dress, toss away her heels, and haul ass in the complete opposite direction. Because for the last few months that she’s been in New York and taking the fashion world by storm, I’ve been watching her. From my ivory tower, from the shadows. Wherever she’s been, I’ve been only feet away, and she hasn’t even realized it.

Until now.

I can’t stay away and watch one more man take his shot with her. She needs to know what she’s doing to me. Especially since things are heating up with my family’s enemies. I just pray those enemies don’t discover my only weakness.
Maybe it was the wrong way to go. Maybe I should never have touched her. Never treated myself to her addictive taste. But I can’t alleviate this obsession I have with her any more than I can put a bullet between my own eyes.

She’s mine to protect now.
I’ll burn my entire fortune to the ground and take ten of those bullets before I let anything happen to her.

I just hope she doesn’t find out what I’ve done.



Scars and Sins (Brooklyn Brothers #2)


To get the girl he wants...

He has to go behind enemy lines.


We are the Rossetti's.
The exiled "sixth" family of the New York mafia. We're the good guys.
People don't fear us...much. They respect us.
The five of us? We're the Brooklyn Brothers.
And we protect what's ours.

You know when you have a little sister and she has that one friend that always follows you around like a puppy? For me, that was Roxanna "Roxy" D'Angelo. That was years ago, back when our fathers didn't hate each other. Then they became enemies and she went off to boarding school in Connecticut.

Now, she's back...and looking nothing like the shy girl I remember.

Cavorting with anyone from the five families is strictly forbidden to someone like me. So, I can't figure out why I keep finding myself in situations with Roxy that could bring the force of the entire mafia syndicate down on our heads. Even if those situations are the wildest, most intoxicating experiences of my life.

But with the Sicilians in town and out for blood, times have never been more dangerous. If they find out about our relationship, they won't hesitate to remove both of us from the equation so they can restore order.

We're not Romeo and Juliet. They both died. And I refuse to let anything happen to Roxy. I have to protect her. From my family. From hers.

I hope she won't hate me for what I have to do.
Because it might just kill her before any bullet can.



Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3)


*Now Live!*


Fake marriages don't have happily ever afters.

We are the Rossetti’s.
The exiled “sixth family” of the New York mafia. We’re the good guys.
People don’t fear us…much. They respect us.
The five of us? We’re the Brooklyn Brothers.
And we protect what’s ours.

Lexi Kozlov is a spoiled brat. Rich. Entitled. And unfortunately, she’s now my wife. The marriage is part of a deal I struck with her father...the boss of the Russian mafia. Insane? Maybe. But the payoff could mean millions for my family. Marriage is just a contract anyway. We barely even have to speak to each other. Piece of cake, right?


Lexi is not what I bargained for. Her millions of Instagram followers see her as an international sex symbol, but I’m learning that she’s so much more. I should be relieved that she’s the bachelorette to my bachelor. I shouldn’t want to convince her to turn our fake marriage into a real one.

But when her life is threatened, you better believe I’m going to protect my wife, contract or no contract. Because this sham marriage is the most real thing I’ve ever had in my life.

And I’m not about to let anyone take that away from me.


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   My husband—Nico—looked at me with unabashed satisfaction after the priest finished offering his blessings and left the room. “That wasn’t too painful, now, was it?”

   That was literally only the third time he’d spoken to me since we met twelve hours before. “Speak for yourself.”

   His admittedly beguiling eyes crinkled in the corners. “Aw, come on. I’m sure you could do worse.”

   I glared. “I wouldn’t put money on it if I were you.”

   His mouth tugged up in a half-grin. “She’s got teeth, does she? Good. It would have been disappointing if you were nothing more than a pretty face.”

   My head reared back at his audacity to speak to me that way. No one who knew who my father was would ever dare to. Especially in his own house. But strangely, it didn’t bother me. I wasn’t offended. I’d never once asked or expected anyone to walk on eggshells around me. In fact, all I’d ever wanted was for others to treat me just like everyone else. Not to mince words or hide the truth or handle me with kid gloves.

So, even though he was being an outright mudak—asshole—at least he was being forthright.

   “What a shame,” I retorted. “That’s all you appear to be.”

    He nodded once. “Nice to know you think I’m pretty. It will make everything that follows much more tolerable.”

   I narrowed my eyes. “If you think there’s even the slightest possibility of this marriage being consummated in any way, you’re obviously thinking with the wrong head.”

   There was a microscopic tick in his eyebrow, as if I’d surprised him, before he schooled his expression back into one of indifference, with a hint of boredom. It looked for a moment like he might have actually been impressed with my bold words.

   “Yet the fact that you just mentioned my other head indicates that you’ve already thought about it,” he pointed out. “Possibly even pictured it. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Many women have succumbed to those same urges.”

   My mouth tightened as my nails dug into my palms. How many of those women had slapped him? “Don’t make the mistake of assuming I’m anything like the hoard of women who’ve been desperate enough to sleep with you.” I huffed in dry laughter. “Actually, on second thought, go ahead and think that. It’ll make every time I reject you that much more satisfying.”

   His gaze brazenly raked over me in a lazy, head-to-toe perusal. “Trust me, legs. You know nothing of satisfaction. Not until you’ve been in my bed.”

   Okay, one, I hated his new nickname for me. But only because it came from his mouth and because he thought of it. Two, men like him drove me mad. Nothing annoyed me more than guys with little man complexes who talked a much bigger game than they’d ever be capable of delivering on. Men who only used their mouths to get women into bed, and not in the way most women would want.

   All talk and no walk.

   Although, Nico certainly didn’t strike me as the type to have a little man complex. Mainly because he was by no means a little man. At five-foot-nine, I was a taller than average woman, and I was wearing heeled boots. For him to tower over me by half a foot put him at six-and-a-half feet, minimum. And he was built like most of the byki—guards—that patrolled my father’s estate. Even through his suit, his pectorals were clearly defined and compact. His arms filled out every inch of his jacket, with no loose material to spare. Same with the way his slacks molded to his thigh muscles. I could see the way they tightened and rippled with every step he took.

   Not that I was looking. Not at all.

   I was merely commenting on his tailor’s skills.

   “Trust me, pretty boy,” I snapped. His eyes reflected amusement at my returning the nickname favor. “Your bed is the last place I’ll ever find myself.”

   The realization that he thought us having sex was a foregone conclusion just because I’d gotten backed into a corner and pressured into a semi-arranged marriage really grated on my last nerve. I was on the brink of losing my shit over pushy men who thought they could muscle me around like I was some kind of strategy tactic instead of a real person.

   And one of those men was my own father.

   Well, adopted father, but he was the closest and only thing I’d ever had to a parent.

   “I’m going to have a hell of a good time proving you wrong,” Nico chortled. “You’ll be amazed by how quickly your ice will melt.”

   I shook my head in astonishment. “Are all the women you sleep with usually drunk when you get them into bed? Or are they just that easy? Because I can’t believe anyone would actually fall for your bullshit.”

   He chuckled as he straightened his cufflinks. “That’s because the only place you’ve felt my mouth is on your cheek.”

   I felt my face flush. But I couldn’t tell if it was from my rising temper or from the fact that I was talking about some very intimate things with a man I didn’t know. Which wasn’t usually my style. Nico was already getting under my skin in the worst way.

   “You can stop prattling on about how good you are in bed,” I said. “In my experience, the men who puff out their chests the most do it to make something else look bigger.”

   His eyes shot to mine, his jaw clenching. The anger I saw briefly flicker to life was quickly snuffed out. “I’m sorry you have such a piss-poor sexual history,” he murmured, feigning sympathy. “No wonder you’re so prickly. I suppose a string of disappointingly small dicks will do that to a woman. Lucky for you, mine is anything but disappointing.”

   Okay, now I knew it was anger that had heat suffusing my cheeks. “How dare you—”

   He took an abrupt step closer, shoving his face into mine. “And in my country, men who brag the most are usually the ones who have reason to brag. Think about that while you’re packing your bags, wife.”

   With a sharp turn on his Italian loafer, Nico strutted out of my father’s study and never looked back.

   Thus concluded my wedding ceremony.

   Pretty sure we just made William Shakespeare roll over in his grave.

Copyright © 2020, Melanie Munton. All rights reserved.