RAJABHIDIXIT

She’s a romantic at heart, living in the most unromantic of worlds . . . Nicknamed Sweet Angel for her docile nature, Anastasia smiles on cue and has a charming response for everything. She’s the favored daughter, the perfect mafia principessa . . . or was. Now, all she can see in the mirror’s reflection is blood staining her hands like crimson paint. They say first impressions are everything . . . In the murky waters of New York’s underworld, Anastasia’s sister is arranged to marry Steve Russo. A Made Man, a boss, a cheat—even measured against mafia standards. His reputation stretches far and wide and is darker than his black suits and ties. After his and Anastasia’s first encounter ends with an accidental glare on her part, she realizes he’s just as rude as he is handsome. She doesn’t like the man or anything he stands for, though that doesn’t stop her heart from pattering like rain against glass when he’s near, nor the shiver that ghosts down her spine at the sound of his voice. And he’s always near. Telling her what to do. Making her feel hotter than any future brother-in-law should. Anastasia may be the Sweet Angel on the outside, but she’s beginning to learn she has a taste for the darkness, for rough hands, cigarettes, and whiskey-colored eyes. Having already escaped one scandal, however, she can hardly afford to be swept up in another. Besides, even if he were hers, everyone knows you don’t fall in love with a Made Man . . . right?

Pablo Escobar was born on a cattle ranch in 1949, the second year of The Violence, a civil war that saw millions of Colombians flee their homes and left hundreds of thousands dead. Slicing people up with machetes was popular and led to a new genre of slaughter methods with ornate names. The Flower Vase Cut began with the severing of the head, arms and legs. The liberated limbs were stuffed down the neck, turning the headless torso into a vase of body parts. A victim stabbed in the neck, who had his tongue pulled out through the gap and hung down his chest was wearing a Colombian Necktie. The turmoil affected nearly every family in Colombia. It accus- tomed Pablo's generation to extreme violence and the expectancy of a short and brutal life. Pablo's parents were Abel de Jesús Dari Escobar, a hard-working peasant farmer who traded cows and horses, and Hermilda Gaviria, an elementary-school teacher. As her husband was mostly absent due to work, Her- milda cooked, cleaned and took care of her family. Pablo was the third of seven children. ———————————— Discord:- RAJABHIDIXIT#5608 Instagram:-THE_DEVILS_LORD_777 SNAPCHAT:- RAJABHI046 If you wish to share your opinion on this book, don't feel shy and drop a comment or a message. My discord is :-RAJABHIDIXIT#5608

The Malazan Empire simmers with discontent, bleddry by interminable warfare, bitter infighting and bloody confrontations. Even the imperial legions, long inured to the bloodshed, yearn for some respite. Yet Empress Laseen's rule remains absolute, enforced by her dread Claw assassins.For Sergeant Whiskey jack and his squad of Bridgeburners, and for Tattersail, surviving cadre mage of the Second Legion, the aftermath of the siege of Pale should have been a time to mourn the many dead. But Darujhistan, last of the Free Cities of Genabackis, yet holds out. It is to this ancient citadel that Laseen turns her predatory gaze.However, it would appear that the Empire is not alone in this great game. Sinister, shadowbound forces are gathering as the gods themselves prepare to play their hand . . . Conceived and written on a panoramic scale, Gardens of the Moon is epic fantasy of the highest order--an enthralling adventure by an outstanding new voice. . . Now these ashes have grown cold, we open the old book. . . These oil-stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen, a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth has ebbed, its gleam and life's sparks are but memories against dimming eyes - what cast my mind, What hue my thoughts as I open the Book of the Fallen and breathe deep the scent of history? . . Listen, then, to these words carried on that breath. . . These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again. . . We are history relived and that is all, without end that is all. . . The Emperor is dead! . . So too his right hand--now cold, now severed! But mark these dying shadows, twinned and flowing bloody and beaten, down and away from mortal sight. . . From sceptre's rule dismissed, from gild candelabra the light now fled, from a hearth ringed in hard jewels, seven years this warmth has bled. . . The Emperor is dead. So too his master'd companion, the rope cut clean. But mark this burgeoning return faltering dark, the tattered shroud-embracing children in Empire's dying light. Hear now the dirge faint reprised, before the sun's fall, this day spills red on buckled earth, and in obsidian eyes vengeance chimes seven times . . . ———————————— Discord:- RAJABHIDIXIT#5608 Instagram:-THE_DEVILS_LORD_777 SNAPCHAT:- RAJABHI046 * The artwork for the cover belongs to its respective creator. If you wish to share your opinion on this book, don't feel shy and drop a comment or a message. My discord is :-RAJABHIDIXIT#5608