Forbidden

Forbidden Copyright Copyright©2023 @Ashlynn Mills All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any oriented or electronic form without permission. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters have been made up, and the story came from the authors imagination. Any resemblance to real life events or people is pure coincidence. Cover: The Author Alibi Editing: Jennifer Griffin Proofreading: Abrianna Marchesotti Betas: Courtnay Gray, Amy Voce, Emma Lou reads, Michi Sweets and Mariansen. Contents Trigger warnings Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-one Twenty-two Twenty-three Epilogue Author note Trigger warnings Gun, ax, and knife violence. One sleep blow job scene, some blood play, knife play, some bloodshed, some on page killing and torture, kidnapping (not between MCs), mentions of drugs and organ trafficking (not done by main MCs). Godson/Godfather. Light blackmailing between Mcs, one Mc tasers the other during a fight. One Mc drugs the other on a jet during a business trip and ties him up to make him watch him get off. He’s the son of a drug lord. Nobody’s perfect here. Mentions of losing past significant others and family members, along with other traumatic experiences. Additional content: An MC adjusting to living with post amputation, who also struggles with Crohn’s disease, IBS and anxiety from recent trauma. Lots of push and pull. Slow burn romance. Dub/sub themes. Spankings, biting, and orgasm denial using a makeshift cock ring. This is a work of fiction and written for entertainment purposes only. I am not an expert on anything regarding the Mafia or Cartel and the plot is mostly romance driven. Prologue Fernando It only takes one look from Zacharias for me to know what my next job will be for the night. His heavy gaze stays on me until I nod and leave the room. It's not the first time I've had to search for his son. It won't be the last either. As much as Enrico is dependable at his job, I can’t say the same when it comes to family matters. He often disappears during birthdays, reunions, parties, Sunday service at church, and family dinners. Zacharias assumes he’s off getting drunk with his friends and being careless. I know better. Enrico doesn’t want his father to know about his health struggles. He has Zacharias believing they are better and no longer a worry. It’s all a lie. I agreed to keep his secret as long as he promised to never skip doctor appointments and to continue treatment. I also plugged my personal number in his phone and told him to always check in during his bad days. He isn't the best at memorizing or saving contact information himself, unless it's work related. Even though he's mostly been good about calling me during the times he's struggling the most, I need him to be better. Walking outside, I head for one of the cars and slide into the driver's seat, checking the tracker on my phone. He's at the beach again. Last time I found him there lying on his stomach writing in a notebook. “It's sometimes the only place I can find peace,” he told me. Everyone should have a place where they can breathe easier. I did once, and I'm still hoping to find it again. We aren't all lucky enough to have more than one. An hour of driving leads me to where he is and I get out of the car, hating how my shoes sink into the sand. I'll be carrying it with me for weeks. Whoever was the first to call it nature's glitter wasn’t wrong. I smile when my eyes land on a familiar red umbrella and blue towel. My face immediately falls once I notice Enrico's crumpled form on top. Running his way, I no longer worry about the sand. My concerns shift to the limp man in front of me. His eyes roll back in his head and his face pales. “Enrico,” I shout. No response comes. “Look at me, little one,” I say, dropping to the sand beside him. The rough grain is wet and uncomfortable on my knees. It's nothing compared to the tugging in my chest. I shake his shoulder a few times and when he still doesn't open his eyes, I lift him in my arms and carry him to the car. I leave all his stuff behind. It can easily be replaced. His life can't. I carefully slide him into the back seat and get inside the car. I don't waste any time turning the key in the ignition and driving off the beach. Heading toward the hospital, I occasionally glance in the rearview mirror, ensuring he’s still breathing. Other than the slight rise and fall of his chest, he doesn't move or make any sounds the whole time. It only has my heart sinking more. “We're almost there, pequeño. Hang in there for me.” As soon as I pull up in front of the emergency room, I rush to the back seat and carry Enrico through the double doors. “Can I help you?” a nurse asks, peering at me through a window. “Yes. He's unresponsive. I found him this way on the beach twenty minutes ago.” Her eyes widen with worry. “How long was he out there for?” “I don't know, but his eyes were partially open when I finally reached him.” “Go ahead and bring him through the door.” A loud buzz sounds in the air and I push my way through the door. “We need a bed. We have an unresponsive man, who looks to be in his early twenties and may have suffered a heat stroke,” she shouts toward the nurses’ station. “He's nineteen and has Crohn's.” Her face pales. “I'm going to need that bed and fast.” A bed rolls in our direction and as soon as I lay him down, they are already rolling him