Master Me

MASTER ME A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE MASTERS OF CORISICA JANE HENRY J HENRY PUBLISHING INC. Copyright © 2023 by Jane Henry All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover art by Jason O’Bannon CONTENTS Synopsis Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Epilogue Preview Meet Jane SYNOPSIS Savannah is beautiful. Brilliant. Brighter than a ray of sunshine. She’s also way too young for me and practically family. But she’s in trouble. When she witnesses a murder at the hands of rival mafia, Savannah flees to the only safe refuge she knows — my family. My life is ordered. Careful. Disciplined. But when Savannah needs protection, I can’t turn her away. I offer her a deal: I’ll take her into my custody. Hide her in plain sight at Le Luxe, the club I own and operate for those who understand the pleasure that comes with total surrender. I’ll keep her safe, no matter the cost. In return, she'll follow my rules. Masquerade as the perfect submissive. Obey me. Our ruse might save her life…but will it save her from me? ONE Savannah Paris. Is. Awesome. I draw in a deep breath, close my eyes, and release it. The warm rays of the setting sun kiss my skin like a blessing, and I am here for it. “Nicolette, I swear, the Parisian air smells different. It’s just so… cleansing.” It helps that we’re eating dessert in one of Paris’s finer restaurants, bathed in the scent of cheese and wine. One of the cool things about Parisians is that they eat cheese literally any time of day, but most especially as a little palate cleanser between dinner and dessert. On the table in front of me sits a half-eaten plate of crème brûlée, a dessert that’s as fun to eat as it is to say. “It’s not exactly fragrant in the metro,” Fabien mutters with a grimace. True, true. Nicolette smiles at me and winks. Her husband can be grouchy, but he’s good to her, and that’s all that matters. Hell, I think the whole grouchiness thing runs in the family, because his brother Thayer’s not exactly a ray of sunshine. With him it’s somehow… hot, though. All that brooding male power and testosterone. He oozes power with those corded, finely honed muscles, and that firm jawline I want to lick— I catch that stray thought before it gets me into some serious Parisian trouble. I decide I don’t care, not about grouchiness or what it would take to soothe that line on Thayer’s brow, or anything that might tamper with my current state of mind, because Nicolette and I are seriously living the life. The French are responsible for the phrase laissez-faire after all. We live in Paris now. Thanks to my sister we’ve got more money in our bank account than I ever thought possible, and I’m in grad school. What could go wrong? “Savannah,” Nicolette says in that big sister tone I’ve learned to dread. “Mmm?” “We have to talk.” Uh oh. I try to avert the crisis of a serious conversation. I lean back and close my eyes, basking in the setting rays of the sun. “Girl, do not harsh my mellow.” My sister raises an eyebrow. “Don’t harsh your what?” “My mellow, babe. I am loving life, and I am not in the mood for a lecture.” “When are you ever in the mood for a lecture?” I open one eye to look at Nicolette, whose own eyes are twinkling at me. She reaches over and tugs my hair, just like she used to when we were little, and smiles. Ever since our parents died, Nicolette’s matured, and she takes her job as big sister pretty seriously. “I wasn’t gonna lecture you. I just want to… talk.” I stifle a groan. I’m not sure there’s much of a distinction between lecture and talk, but okay. I know Nicolette’s concerned for me. I know she worked her ass off to earn the money we have, and though I don’t know the intricacies of it all, I suspect it had something to do with Fabien’s business in Paris and south of here in Corsica. What he does isn’t exactly legal, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. Since I like bliss, I’ve chosen ignorance. “Alright, then,” I say, steeling myself. I sit up straighter and give Nicolette my undivided attention. I fold my hands in front of me. “What shall we discuss?” I shoot a quick glance at Fabien, hoping he’s busy on his phone or something. He’s more of the lecture type, and his input will definitely change the course of this conversation. No such luck. Fabien clears his throat. My brother-in-law’s the eldest in his family. With two younger brothers of his own, he’s easily adopted the role of big brother to me, overprotection free of charge. So I have a tendency to sort of wilt a little under his serious look. The Gerard family is well-respected—dare I say, even feared—in France, and there’s good reason. Like his brothers, Fabien is huge and muscled, filthy rich, and hot as hell. My sister scored the whole damn package. But the point is, people pay attention to the Gerards. Fabien speaks bluntly. “You need a bodyguard.” Oh no. Not this again. I snort. “Bodyguard? Do we really need to come back to that?” I shake my head. I lower my voice, so we don’t draw attention. I am pretty convinced that having a bodyguard for protection isn’t a normal thing. And even though I am all