--- Brittany: The Mafia’s Crimson Rose Brittany Leigh was a name whispered like a secret in Shelby. Men craved her. Women envied her. But behind every heated stare and envious glance was a truth no one dared say aloud: Brittany wasn’t just beautiful — she was dangerous. Her hair, long and red as spilled wine, tumbled in wild waves down her back, catching every glint of moonlight like fire. Her eyes, a green so vivid they seemed carved from emerald, had a way of stopping men mid‑sentence. She didn’t need to raise her voice. She didn’t need to beg. One glance — sharp, knowing, and filled with the promise of pleasure and pain — could unravel even the strongest will. And yet, for all her beauty, Brittany lived caged. Her family was one of the oldest vampire mafia clans in the South. Old money. Old blood. Old rules. Their empire stretched from Shelby to New Orleans, a labyrinth of influence built on shadows and secrets. But to Brittany, their world was suffocating. She was watched, guarded, and protected — not out of love, but out of ownership. To her father, she was the jewel of the family. A bargaining chip. A bride to be bartered when the time came to seal a deal strong enough to keep the family’s power intact. Brittany knew her fate would never truly be hers. Her body, her blood, her future — all of it had been promised to the clan long before she was old enough to dream of freedom. But Brittany wasn’t a girl content to be locked away in a tower. She had fire in her veins — fire that no cage could contain. She walked with the confidence of a queen, the kind that made every man turn his head, the kind that whispered touch me and die even as it begged try and see if you dare. She knew her power, and in quiet ways, she had wielded it. A smile here, a glance there. She had broken hearts without ever touching lips. She had crushed egos with nothing more than silence. Still, power meant nothing when the strings of her life were pulled by others. And at night, when the world was quiet, Brittany would stare out her bedroom window, wondering if the shadows beyond her yard held more freedom than her gilded prison. It was on one of those nights that she first saw him. At first, it was just the sound of engines. Black SUVs pulling up next door, men in dark suits moving crates under cover of midnight. She should have looked away. Her father’s rules were clear — curiosity was dangerous. But Brittany had never been good at obeying. And then she saw him. Tall. Broad‑shouldered. Shirt clinging to a chest that looked carved from stone. His skin, pale as moonlight, glowed against the darkness of the night. His hair, dark and unruly, brushed his forehead in a way that made him look more like a fallen angel than a man. But it was his eyes that held her — cold, unyielding, and burning with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. The moment their gazes met, Brittany felt her breath catch. It wasn’t fear. It was something far more dangerous. It was want. And when his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, Brittany knew her world was about to burn. Her father’s men whispered his name with dread. Matt. The Devil himself. The one man even her father feared. And the Devil had just looked at her like she already belonged to him.Matt: The Devil of the Underground They called him the Devil long before Brittany laid eyes on him. In the world of vampire mafias, names carried power, and his had been whispered in fear for decades. No one knew the full story of how Matt rose to the top — some claimed he was born in blood, others swore he carved his empire out of the ashes of those foolish enough to stand in his way. But everyone agreed on one thing: where Matt walked, death followed. He was a man built for shadows. A king in a world where crowns were forged from blood oaths and broken promises. Tall, broad, and sculpted like a predator carved from marble, Matt carried himself with the confidence of a man who never had to ask permission — because no one would dare deny him anything. His muscles, taut and powerful beneath pale, flawless skin, spoke of strength that could crush any opponent. Yet it wasn’t just his body that made men fear and women ache. It was his eyes. Cold, gray‑blue, and burning with an intensity that made people drop their gaze in submission. Eyes that promised both pleasure and pain. Eyes that said, I own you before you even know it. He never had to raise his voice. A single look, a tilt of his head, was enough to make hardened men beg for mercy. To the outside world, MattBound by Blood: The Forbidden Romance The first time Matt touched her, Brittany swore the air itself stopped breathing. His hand — large, strong, possessive — slid over her waist as though it had always belonged there. She should have pulled away. Every rule of her world screamed that this man was poison. The Devil wasn’t meant to touch her, let alone claim her. But when his fingers pressed against the silk of her dress and his lips brushed the curve