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To them, I’m their savior. No more hiding bags of cash under their beds. Nope. Instead, they all come to me to clean their money and, once it’s spotless, grow it.
Research to show this book is mafia dark romance. However, too little elements or scenes and only at the beginning.
I hate this shit, but it’s a necessary evil. Here, I’ll learn secrets. Possess fortunes. I will amass an empire. This is my corrupt kingdom, where I am a god.
Showcasing the personality of Cyrus Reed who clearly thinks highly of himself.
They kill. I kill. But there is one difference. I only kill when I need to. Some of these dipshits kill for sport. To prove they are men. None of this shit makes them a man. Since they don’t see that, there really is no helping them. So, I
just clean their money and bleed them with interest instead.
At first, I notice the usual crowd—rich douchebags who have nothing better to do than spend their daddy’s money. I know the type, and I fucking hate the type. On the other side of the room are the drug dealers, mafia members, and dirtier than fuck politicians.
Most of the people in this room are on my client lists. My banking does the heavy load of cleaning, but what I can’t clean that way, I clean through my poker game. That’s why the rich boys are here. They don’t know how to play; they know how to lose.
I let my eyes trail over her exposed skin. As cold as it is outside, it’s sweltering inside the greenhouse, and Ivy is wearing only a tank top. A light sheen of sweat glistens on her neck. I want to lick it off. Taste her. I devour that moisture with my eyes and then lift my gaze. She must read my thoughts because I watch her neck as she swallows and goose bumps break against her hot skin.
