A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

By: Maya Blake

“Now, il mio angelo, I make you mine.”

Billionaire Zaccheo Giordano walks out of prison into the chilling winter wind with only one thing on his mind: revenge on the treacherous Pennington family who put him there. And he’ll start with his ex-fiancée, Eva Pennington.

When Zaccheo demands she wear his ring again to save her family from his wrath, Eva agrees. At least a marriage in name only allows her to keep her infertility secret. Until Zaccheo makes it clear their marriage will be real in every sense, including giving him an heir…

A passionate read for Christmas nights!

One eyebrow spiked. “You seem so confident I’m going to hand myself to you on a silver platter. Isn’t that a tad foolish?”

There was that tone again, the one that said she didn’t believe him. That she thought this wasn’t some sort of twisted game on his part.

“I guess we’ll find out one way or the other when the sordid details are laid out for you on Monday. All you need to concern yourself with today is picking an engagement ring that makes the right statement.”

Eva’s striking green eyes clashed with his and that lightning bolt struck again. “And what statement would that be?” she challenged.

Zaccheo let loose a chilling half smile that he knew made his enemies quake. “Why, that you belong to me, of course.”


‘ONE PLATINUM CHRONOGRAPH WATCH. A pair of diamond-studded cufflinks. Gold signet ring. Six hundred and twenty-five pounds cash, and...Obsidian Privilege Card. Right, I think that’s everything, sir. Sign here to confirm return of your property.’

Zaccheo Giordano didn’t react to the warden’s sneer as he scrawled on the barely legible form. Nor did he react to the resentful envy in the man’s eyes when his gaze drifted to where the sleek silver limousine waited beyond three sets of barbed wire.

Romeo Brunetti, Zaccheo’s second-in-command and the only person he would consider draping the term friend upon, stood beside the car, brooding and unsmiling, totally unruffled by the armed guard at the gate or the bleak South East England surroundings.

Had Zaccheo been in an accommodating mood, he’d have cracked a smile.

But he wasn’t in an accommodating mood. He hadn’t been for a very long time. Fourteen months, two weeks, four days and nine hours to be exact. Zaccheo was positive he could count down to the last second if required.

No one would require it of him, of course. He’d served his time. With three and a half months knocked off his eighteen-month sentence for good behaviour.

The rage fused into his DNA bubbled beneath his skin. He showed no outward sign of it as he pocketed his belongings. The three-piece Savile Row suit he’d entered prison in stank of decay and misery, but Zaccheo didn’t care.

He’d never been a slave to material comforts. His need for validation went far deeper. The need to elevate himself into a better place had been a soul-deep pursuit from the moment he was old enough to recognise the reality of the life he’d been born into. A life that had been a never-ending whirlpool of humiliation, violence and greed. A life that had seen his father debased and dead at thirty-five.

Memories tumbled like dominoes as he walked down the harshly lit corridor to freedom. He willed the overwhelming sense of injustice that had festered for long, harrowing months not to explode from his pores.

The doors clanged shut behind him.

Zaccheo froze, then took his first lungful of free air with fists clenched and eyes shut. He absorbed the sound of birds chirping in the late-winter morning sun, listened to the distant rumble of the motorway as he’d done many nights from his prison cell.

Opening his eyes, he headed towards the fifteen-foot gate. A minute later, he was outside.

‘Zaccheo, it’s good to see you again,’ Romeo said gravely, his eyes narrowing as he took him in.

Zaccheo knew he looked a sight. He hadn’t bothered with a razor blade or a barber’s clippers in the last three months and he’d barely eaten once he’d unearthed the truth behind his incarceration. But he’d spent a lot of time in the prison gym. It’d been that or go mad with the clawing hunger for retribution.

He shrugged off his friend’s concern and moved to the open door.

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