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A NOTE FROM LUCY

Happy New Year and Lunar New Year! Stepping into a new year is always exciting for me, if trepidatious. This year is no exception. There are things I'm very much looking forward to and others I am not. I'm sure we can all relate. Let's talk about what I am looking forward to as I'm hoping you all will be excited about it too.

First, I got the rights back on Moon Awakening and Moon Craving in my romantasy shifter Children of the Moon series, which means I'll be able to put them in KU and make them available again in paperback (as they have not been – except via USBs – in many years). To celebrate and thank readers for their support, Moon Awakening will be free in Kindle Feb 20-24 and the rest of the books will be on sale.

Second, I am launching a spinoff series to Syndicate Rules starting in June! Sins of Arrogance is the first book in the Syndicate Sins series focused on the Irish mob. The story features a couple a bunch of readers have asked about: Mick & Kara from Forced Vows.

Third, my mafia books are coming out in both German and Spanish this year and I'm really excited about that.

Finally, I am migrating my newsletter list to Substack. That should not change anything for newsletter subscribers. My monthly newsletter will continue to be free and delivered to your inboxes. However, the move will make it possible for me to do certain things like make all the chapters in the ongoing serial Overdue available to new and current NL subscribers, as well as being able to send out of the moment emails at the last minute, like when books are free for one day only etc.

I think it's going to be a really good move for me and my subscribers, but there may be hiccups. So, please be patient but by all means let me know if there's a problem. Just do it nicely. 😉

P.S. Do you follow me on Bookbub and/or Amazon? It's the best way to make sure you don't miss out on discounted or free books by me, regardless of who published them.

Book News

Recent Release

I created a reading journal! What do you think?

Reading Journal

Several readers have asked me how I track my reading because of my weekly planner posts. Over the years, I've tried online trackers like goodreads and analog book journals. I'm currently using my daily planner to do it. However, I decided to design a book journal with all the things I would want in one and some stuff I've heard other readers say they would want too.

Does the cover theme look familiar? It’s from CONVENIENT MAFIA WIFE'S gorgeous special edition hardcover.

IngramSpark does not publish low content books for indie authors like they once did, so this is only available on Amazon.

Coming Soon

Like I mentioned, MOON AWAKENING and MOON CRAVING will be available again Feb 20th.

I will also be releasing a reading journal with a complimentary cover to the series (think dragons and a beautiful full moon), so watch this space!

Bonus content

Links to all bonus content (which can be downloaded or read online at BookFunnel) are available here.

OVERDUE Installment (recap)

I'll be adding more chapters to Overdue this year after I get the initial chapters up on my new Substack.

The Prologue and Chapter One can be found at this permanent link, or scroll down to read it.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express, written permission from the author Lucy Monroe who can be contacted off her website http://lucymonroe.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

NOTE: Any complaints about the serialized nature of Overdue or requests to purchase it in full before it is finished will go unanswered.

This book is NOT written. I am writing each new installment monthly and will consider input from readers in the discussion on my FB group, Lucy Monroe's Book Nook only.

I do not know how many installments there will be, so I do not know when Overdue will be available to purchase as a complete book.

When the book is done, newsletter subscribers will be able to download their free ebook copy before I publish it on Amazon in Kindle, Kindle Unlimited and paperback.

cover

Overdue

By Lucy Monroe

OVERDUE
by Lucy Monroe
1st Printing 2024 Lucy Monroe LLC
COPYRIGHT © 2024 LUCY MONROE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Dedication

For my readers. You all are at the heart of the stories I tell. Thank you for being part of my adventure as an author.

Prologue

ZEPHYR

"I am not sitting on your lap during the meeting." Lucia laughs and smacks my cousin's arm.

Atlas grins at her. "But my lap is more comfortable than the chairs."

Before Atlas met Lucia, he never smiled.

Never. Not an exaggeration. A fact.

As our mafia's top assassin, he had no reason to.

Now, with a baby on the way and a wife that he adores, he doesn't just grin. He laughs. Not a lot, but it happens.

He is 100% whipped and does not give two fucks who knows it.

I like Lucia, but no woman is ever going to hold that kind of power over me.

"Sit wherever the hell you want. Just get your assess situated so we can get this done." Zeus glares at the rest of us.

My oldest cousin has always been grumpy, but he's only gotten more irascible since becoming the head of the Hades Brotherhood in Oregon.

Zeus sits down at the head of the table. Orion, his middle brother and our lawyer slides into the chair on his right. Instead of Atlas sitting to his left, like he used to do, he helps his wife into that seat before taking the one next to her.

And consequently between me and Lucia.

She won the argument of getting he own chair, but no way is she ever going to win the one about sitting next to me.

Yes, I am twenty-eight years old with a leadership position in the Hades Brotherhood, but that doesn't mean I've stopped enjoying getting a rise out of my older cousin.

Atlas is too easy to poke. One implication that you want to flirt with his wife and he's throwing you into a wall.

I grin and lean around Atlas to wink at Lucia. "You look beautiful today, cousin."

Atlas growls.

But Lucia grins and thanks me.

"Give it a rest," my older brother, Helios, says. "I have to get back to the club."

I make a motion for things to proceed. "By all means. Let's get this meeting going."

"Thanks for your approval," Zeus says sardonically before nodding to Lucia. "Tell us what you've found."

"I ran the numbers in several different scenarios and purchasing our own property on the Oregon coast for delivery access makes the most sense."

She taps something on her tablet and mine dings with a notification. So does everyone else's at the table.

"If you look at the report I just sent," she says, indicating our tablets. "You'll see that in terms of reward-risk ratios and net profits, it's the most feasible option long term."

I scan the parameters and numbers in her report documentation. It all supports her conclusion.

"Even as a short-term proposition, it makes the most sense," I say.

Helios frowns without look up from his device. "Especially after our current connection tried to increase their receiving fees after the last shipment arrived."

We convinced them to stick with the original terms of the agreement, but now we know they can't be trusted. Our choice was to find another receiving company, buy or own property, or put our own people in charge of the current business.

Small towns on the Oregon coast are like small towns everywhere. Too many people know too much about everybody's business. If we came in and took over, it would draw attention we don't need.

Finding a new company carries the same risk as sticking with the old one.

"But purchasing our own access is going to require some kind of front and a consistent presence."

"A completely legitimate enterprise run by a private billionaire with no known ties to organized crime," Zeus agrees, his gazed fixed squarely on me.

I look around the table and realize everyone else is looking at me too.

"Why do I get the feeling I’m the last to hear about this?"

My brother, Helios, shrugs. "We need another front man and I'm already busy with the club. Orion is our lawyer. He can't move to the Oregon Coast."

"I'm building Lucia a house here," Atlas says, like that's an iron clad excuse not to relocate.

"We need a front corporation in Oregon to do business on our behalf that cannot be traced back to the Hades Brotherhood," Zeus says to me.

"Your status as a billionaire in your own right makes you the ideal person for the role," Orion adds.

"I knew designing that app was going to come back to bite me in the ass." It already had once.

I spent the time I was supposed to be listening to lectures on business law designing a combined dating and social media app. It went viral and I became a millionaire pretty much overnight.

Our uncle, who is also the West Coast Godfather of the Night, was not happy that when the app went viral, so did my name. He had to pull in favors to get my name and picture out of the media while distancing me from the family business.

The best part, besides the money, was that his damage control included removing me from the pre-law program I'd never wanted to be in the first place.

My millionaire status jumped to billionaire status when I sold the app to a major software company. After that, I turned my attention to financial investments and have nearly doubled the billions I got for selling the app since.

Now I am one of the least talked about billionaires in the United States, just like most of the other mafia related men on Forbes Fortune 500 list. Unlike the other billionaires connected to organized crime, my fortune is entirely my own.

I tithe to the Brotherhood, like every other person who has taken the oath, but that's it. On the surface, I am a squeaky-clean businessman who made it big in an industry inundated by entrepreneurs.

Which is exactly why they want me to buy the property on the coast. "Why do I have to move the coast? Why can't I just buy the property?"

"The move will further distance you from us. Once you are established there, you can do more business for us without drawing attention to our endeavors here."

"This is a long-term solution you've been thinking about for a while." Zeus inclines his head.

Of course, he has. He is our anax. He's always thinking ahead about what is best for our Brotherhood. How to keep our family not only safe, but thriving.

And apparently part of that plan includes me establishing my identity as a no doubt reclusive billionaire living on the Oregon Coast.

I glare at Helios. "Why didn't you warn me about this?"

"You are too busy picking up chicks when you come into the club to talk." My brother doesn't sound even a little repentant.

"I wonder what your app users would think knowing the developer has never once used the platform?" Lucia muses.

I shrug. "I don't care."

I have never been the public face of the app and now I don't even own it.

"I'm a city guy. What the hell am I supposed to do for dates in some Podunk town on the coast?"

"The female population of Portland will survive your absence," Zeus says.

I snap right back, "Just because you are happy to live like a monk, doesn't mean the rest of us are."

I have a healthy sex drive and no desire for commitment. That means I need a city size dating pool, not a small town where everyone knows my business.

"I don't want you participating in our import business. You know what to look for in the property, but once you buy it. We'll set up everything for receiving goods and transporting them without detection."

"If I buy a house on the beach and suddenly start limiting access to the property to cover your operations, that in itself will be suspicious."

Lucia leans around her ape of a husband to grin at me. "Not if the beach property is for a think tank dedicated to environmental conservation and climate change solutions."

We talked about that once while she was waiting for Atlas to get back from a trip to Russia. Lucia had been a little stressed with him out of the country, and we kept her entertained with a game of what would your perfect life look like?

I'd been a smartass and said mine would be participating in a think tank to find ways to reverse the damage we've done to our planet.

Apparently, she'd taken me at my word.

The only problem? I'd been using sarcasm to cover my very real desire to do something to make our world better.

Not the typical attitude of a made man.

"What the hell do I know about a think tank?" It's ridiculous to think I could become something so completely different than what I am.

I have never been ashamed of my family, or how we make our living. The man I killed to become made hurt children and he kept getting away with it.

But I like finding solutions. It's how my brain works. Turning that onto improving the future of our planet? Is one endeavor I don't think I could ever get bored of.

There's too much to do.

Zeus shrugs. "You're smart. You can figure it out."

"There's nothing you can't do if you set your mind to it," Helios agrees.

I stare at my cousin and brother, for once completely speechless.

"What did you know about dating apps when you designed yours?" Orion asks. "Nothing. But you designed the best app on the market."

I smile when Orion doesn't caveat the claim with one of the best. That's our Brotherhood. We always win.

And if we're going to fix some of the problems facing our planet and the population living on it, it will take the ruthlessness of our nature to do it right.

"We protect our family and our business," Atlas says. "Part of that is giving them both a future."

And suddenly, I’m not just a legitimate frontman for our mafia, but I am it's hope of the future too.

Chapter 1

AMELIA

Ada Nelson slams a copy of Handmaid's Tale onto an already large stack of books on the library cart.

I move closer so I can see the other titles and my stomach cramps.

They are all books that have been banned in other places. There have been no petitions to ban books in the Deerbrush Point Community Library that I am aware of though.

"Are you reshelving those?" I ask hopefully.

Mrs. Nelson looks up, a maniacal glint in her weathered blue eyes. "No, dear. We will be disposing of them. We aren't going to have books like these on the shelves of my library. Not anymore."

"It's the town's library, isn't it?" I have to curl my fingers into a fist to stop myself reaching out and grabbing as many of the books as I can and running with them.

"Of course, dear. However, we must protect impressionable minds, don't you agree?" She smiles at me sweetly, but that smile is a lie.

There is nothing sweet about what she's doing.

I see a Judy Bloom book in the stack and can't hold back my gasp.

That book was a childhood friend.

Is that a children's dictionary? A dictionary?

I've bitten my tongue many times when Mrs. Nelson has one of her ideas.

Like deciding to take the chairs out of the children's books section, to discourage parents dropping their children off for free babysitting.

The head librarian felt the prominently placed signs telling parents all children twelve and under must be accompanied by a responsible adult weren't enough. That particular effort backfired on her though.

Most kids don't mind sitting on the floor and that's exactly what they started doing. Little legs sprawling into the aisles was one thing. But Mrs. Nelson about had a coronary when those same children started laying books out on the carpet in front of them to read.

The chairs reappeared pretty darn quickly.

Once these books are gone, they aren't coming back though. Whether she throws them away, or recycles them, by the time patrons start complaining, the volumes will be long gone.

And there isn't money in the library's budget to replace them all. Which is what she's counting on, I bet.

"No, I don't agree." I grab the children's dictionary and shake it at her. "Young minds need to be challenged and fed, not buried under a bunch of fertilizer and kept in the dark like mushrooms."

"With an attitude like that it's a good thing you aren't the head librarian." She pulls another book and adds it to the pile.

"You may be head librarian, but you cannot cull the library shelves like this without board approval."

"You are mistaken. Part of my job description is to maintain the collection, removing books that are no longer popular and purchasing others to keep our offerings current."

"Those books aren't unpopular." Several are so dogeared, they need replacing, not disposing of.

I don't say this though because she'll use that as another excuse to dispose of the books.

"You are exceeding your authority," I tell her, my heart racing and my palms wet from sweat.

I hate confrontation.

"I think not, Amelia."

How many times have I asked her to call me Mel? Too many to count.

"It is you who is out of line." She gives me a measuring look from beneath beetled brows. "I am sure you do not wish to lose the job you love so much for insubordination, but my patience is not limitless."

"What's the point of working in a library with no books?" I rashly demand.

"There are plenty of books left. Good books that do not perpetrate an unacceptable agenda." She uses air quotes when she says agenda.

"What agenda would that be?" I demand. "Education?"

"Do not be facetious, Amelia. It is unbecoming. Your youth and inexperience may blind you to the risk inherent in the ideas propagated by these books, buts I know what I need to do to protect our community."

"Ideas propagated by a dictionary?" I ask with disbelief.

"Please return that book to the cart, Amelia."

I hold it close to my chest. "No."

"Perhaps you need a moment to collect yourself. Please do so and return with an appropriate attitude, or do not return at all."

The children's dictionary tucked tightly under one arm, I pull my phone out and start recording my boss. "Please repeat why you are removing all of these books from the library shelves."

She glares at me. "Cell phone usage is prohibited in the library, as you know. Please put that away."

I don't listen, but instead angle my phone so I can record the titles being removed from the library.

"Are you planning to throw these books away?" Sweat trickles down my back and soaks my armpits.

"Of course not." Her indignant tone matches her expression. "They will be recycled. Deerbrush Point Community Library is green certified."

I cannot believe this woman. Does she think recycling the books somehow makes what she's doing better?

The righteous glint in her eyes says she does.

"I quit."

Her jaw drops, her eyes popping.

She's shocked? I'm shocked!

What am I doing?

I spent four years away from my ailing grandparents to get my degree in information science. When I landed my dream job in my hometown without having to complete a masters degree in library science, I was over the moon.

It felt like it was too good to be true, but here I am after four years, still working as a librarian in Deerbrush Point.

Here I was anyway.

Oh, man. Am I really doing this?

"Do not be melodramatic, Amelia. You are not quitting over something so insignificant as me pulling a few books from the shelves."

"First, it is just a few. You've got at least twenty books there already. Second, it is not insignificant. What you are doing goes against everything a public library stands for." I turn off my phone and tuck it away in sweater pocket.

Then, I pull my lanyard with my badge declaring me an Assistant Librarian over my head, and put it on top of the books.

Next, I remove the key to the library from my keyring and drop it beside the lanyard. Pulling in my next breath feels like I'm doing it under water.

I only got that key six months ago.

"There's no point in having a key to a library that isn't a library anymore." Dyani slurps her chocolate milkshake through the straw, her dark brown eyes snapping with annoyance.

I stir my pineapple milkshake before trying to suck some up through the straw. A fruit chunk gets caught and my cheeks hollow, trying to move it.

Giving up, I use my spoon. Pineapple, sugary goodness bursts across my tastebuds. "I can't believe the president of the library board agrees with Ada."

While I always defer to her preference for formality, she never respects mine for being called Mel. Now that I don't work for the woman anymore, I'm not extending her the courtesy of calling her Mrs. Nelson any longer.

Anyway, Ada is an improvement over the word I'd rather call her.

Dyani tilts her head and purses her lips. "Uh, I'm not sure Blakely taking the old bat's side has anything to do with her beliefs about what books should, or should not be, in the library."

"She's married to my cousin, for goodness' sake. She should take my side."

"You mean the same cousin who tells everybody who will listen how wrong it was that your grandparents left their house to you?"

"We've gotten past that."

"Yeah, no." Dyani shakes her head. "He is not over it."

"The house passed down through the oldest sons. His dad wouldn't have inherited regardless." And Percy was never even in the running.

"Grandpa only bypassed my dad in my favor because he trusted me not to sell to developers."

The homestead overlooking Ipset Cove has been in the Pierson family for over a hundred and fifty years. Since before Deerbrush Point was designated a township. Property developers have been trying to buy it off the family for the past four generations.

"I know that. You know that. But your cousin can't seem to get that through his head."

"He would sell to developers in a heartbeat."

"There are lots of people in town who wouldn't be sad to see that happen." Dyani pushes away her now empty milkshake glass and sits back in the red vinyl covered booth to stare at me. "What are you going to do?"

"About the house? Keep it like grandpa wanted."

Dyani shakes her head. "Not about the house, doofus. About the library."

"What can I do?"

"Fight it."

"I'm not much of a fighter." I'm more of a hide in a quiet nook and read kind of girl.

"So, you're just going to let the Adas of this world win?"

My best friend does not shy from confrontation. If there's a protest, she's always standing on the front line.

I'm the one who makes the signs.

"How? Am I supposed to start a competing library?"

Grandpa may have left me a house and property worth a couple of million, but the only actual money he left me is in a trust for the house's upkeep and property taxes. The rest went to my dad.

I live off the wages I earn.

Which is going to be exactly zero dollars, with no unemployment benefits since I quit my job.

"Come on. You're a Pierson. If you won't do anything, who will?"

Three of the founding families have descendants still living in Deerbrush Point: the Piersons, the Washingtons and the Richards.

"Grandpa was a Pierson with a capital P. I'm just me." Amelia Pierson, average height, medium brown hair, eyes the same color as almost half the U.S. population, brown and a body just on the fluffy side of average.

"Last time I checked your last name was capitalized too."

"It's not the same."

"It's exactly the same. You have a responsibility to the community."

I can't argue with a woman who takes her own responsibility to the land and people of this region as seriously as Dyani Acothley. She comes from a long line of Chinook conservationists that are the driving force behind the green footprint of our small coastal town.

"Are you going to let her throw those books away?"

"She plans to recycle them." In the bins in the back of the library.

That won't be picked up for two more days.

"Dumpster diving is legal, right?"

"For the most part. Why?"

"Are you busy tonight?"

"No. Again, why?"

"Want to do some dumpster diving with me?"

"Sounds smelly."

"I don't mean actual dumpsters."

"What do you mean?"

The people of Deerbrush Point and surrounding communities deserve access to the books Ada is throwing out via the recycle bins.

I’m not sure how to make that happen, but it starts with rescuing the books from the garbage service.

Chapter 2

ZEPHYR

My stomach rumbles.

In no mood to explore the small coastal town that has become my exile, I search for food delivery options on my phone.

There are none. No Uber Eats. No Door Dash. There's not even a pizza place that delivers. This can't be right. I call the front desk on the landline, its plastic casing yellowed with age.

That's why black phones are a better investment for lodgings that still use them. They don't show their age as easily.

"What can I do you for, Mr. Nickle?" Bill, the desk clerk who checked me in earlier, asks after picking up on the third ring.

"Nikolaides," I correct automatically. "I want to get some dinner."

"Well now, there's the Crab Shack, but they're not open on Monday and Tuesday during the winter."

Then why mention it? I don't ask. Lucia would be proud of me. She calls me a smartass and she's not wrong.

"I prefer delivery," I say.

"We don't got none of them delivery services here. Well unless you count Tina at Sand and Sea Blooms, but she only delivers flowers. Her daughter helps out sometimes, but—"

"She only delivers flowers," I slot in dryly.

My cousin Atlas would rip the phone out of the wall by now.

"That's right," the desk clerk agrees.

"I'm not interested in eating flowers for my dinner." Not even of the edible varieties.

My grumbling stomach wants something substantial to fill it.

Bill laughs.

But I'm not joking. I'm hungry and pissed off that this tiny town is my new life.

"What about you?" I ask Bill. "I'll pay you $50 to pick up my dinner."

"No can do, Mr. Nickoly. I have to man the desk."

One syllable closer, but still not my name. I suppress the urge to growl.

Why didn't I bring any men with me? Because as a legit billionaire businessman, I no longer have a crew. My guys are now working on my brother's crew.

I need to hire regular employees. And a security service.

Finding a cook and housekeeper is vital because I've turned frozen meals into charcoal and destroyed more than one microwave doing it. What billionaire doesn't have people?

"Blacktail Diner is only four blocks up Washington," the desk clerk adds. "Maggie's fried chicken is the best in the state."

Have I ever eaten fried chicken?

If I have, I don't remember it.

"I don't eat fried food." My tone is icy and I do nothing to soften it.

"You got heart problems?" Bill asks solicitously. "Maggie makes a heart healthy salad with that quinoa stuff."

He makes quinoa sound like a foul medicine. I like quinoa, but right now, I want more than salad, even if it has the nutty grain in it to give it body.

"My heart is fine."

"Oh." Bill's tone is nonplussed. "Well, in that case, you can try her ribeye. Now that's a good cut of meat and she uses a dry rub recipe she inherited from her great grandmother."

"Good to know."

"I keep telling her if she don’t share it, it'll die with her," he replies, my sarcasm lost on him.

"A tragedy," I drawl before hanging up.

With my destination fixed, I step out of the Do Drop In motel. Near the end of Washington Street on the beach side, the motel feels isolated because so many businesses are closed already.

If they are open at all during the winter.

Lionel Matson, my realtor, assures me I won't be staying here long. He has just the property for my needs.

Remembering the specs he gave me, I have to agree.

The century old home is on a bluff overlooking a cove with no land access other than via the property attached to the house. And that access is nothing more than a steep set of stairs.

While you can't own beaches in Oregon, owning the only access available, makes certain sections of the coastline as private as it gets.

However, the house is not for sale.

Lionel says the owner is a young woman who inherited the property from her grandparents. She will be easy to convince to sell. Especially if the price is right.

I take that to mean that Lionel will do his best to convince her to sell as long as his commission is high enough.

My stomach growls again, cramping with hunger and my speed increases, my long legs eating up the sidewalk between the motel and the diner.

I pass only a few people on my brisk walk to the restaurant. At least February isn't tourist season, when the sleepy town's population skyrockets. The fewer people I have to deal with on my hunt for dinner, the better.

Chilly wind, carrying the scent of caramel corn, buffets me as I walk down Deerbrush Point's main street. I'm half tempted to find the caramel corn and buy a bag to eat for my dinner.

But then the aroma of seared meat hits my senses. I swiftly walk past the candy shop that boasts in its window of 50 flavors of saltwater taffy, fresh caramel corn and homemade fudge.

The door to the diner opens as I reach it and a woman comes out. She's talking to her friend and doesn't notice me.

I notice her though.

Hell, do I.

Dressed in a button up top, done all the way to her delectable neck and a pair of slacks, she looks like a librarian. A sexy librarian. Because the soft pink blouse clings to generous tits and the slacks form to thighs that make my mouth water.

I step back fast so she doesn't run into me and then curse my own gentlemanly instincts. I might have been raised in the Greek mafia, but my mom drilled manners into us.

The woman looks up and eyes the color of milk chocolate stare at me through gold rimmed glasses. "Oh, excuse me."

An electric jolt of desire surges through me when our eyes meet. The muscles in my hands contract with the need to reach out and grab her.

"No problem. I'm Zephyr Nikolaides." I smile, inviting her to return the favor.

Her friend whispers from behind her, "I bet women's panties drop for that smile."

Her attempt at keeping the words between the two of them is not a success.

I have excellent hearing.

"They've been known to." I nod toward the friend and wink at my sexy librarian look alike.

Who rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but a small smile flirts with the corners of her mouth. "I bet."

"And I bet your name is just as pretty as the rest of you."

Laughter bubbles out of her, her eyes dancing with mirth. "My name is Mel."

"Mel?" I ask, the humor catching.

Even I'm not going to claim that's a pretty epitaph. But I like it.

"It's what I prefer people to call me." Some remembered rancor gives her words weight.

"Got it. Mel. I'm moving to the area. Want to play tour guide?"

"Yeah, no." Her brows raise in mockery. "Have you heard of stranger danger?"

"Have dinner with me and we won't be strangers." Indicate the diner she's just coming out of.

"I already ate."

"I figured, but it was worth a try. How about tomorrow?"

"Pretty sure milkshakes don't count as dinner," her friend says before sticking out her hand. "Diyani Acothley."

I shake her hand. "Nice to meet you, Diyani. Maybe you and a date could join us tomorrow night to help Mel get over her stranger danger."

I haven't been on a group date since puberty, but if it gets me an in with the sexy woman in front of me, I'll do it.

"I never said I'd have dinner with you."

"You didn't say you wouldn't either."

"You're not short on self-confidence, are you?"

"No." I grin.

I'm sprinkled with the pollen that draws women to me like honeybees. I'm young, rich, good looking and hella good in bed.

Diyani laughs, but Mel shakes her head. "See you around, Zephyr."

Without another word, or even a flirty smile, Mel drags her friend past me, shutting me down without a backward glance.

Well, fuck.

That's unexpected.

But if she's trying to turn me off, she's failing miserably. I'm a predator. What do predators do when the prey runs?

We chase.

I watch her hips sway in unconscious invitation as she talks animatedly with her friend until they turn down the side street past the candy shop.

Chapter 3

AMELIA

An hour later, despite the winter chill, my ladybits are still hot and bothered from meeting Mr. Sexypants.

AKA Zephyr Nicolaides.

"Are you still mooning over that guy?" Dyani asks as I maneuver my car into a parking spot near the back of the library.

Sitting between Washington Street and Pierson Street, there is no stealthy place to park near the library. But the evening fog has rolled in and the downtown businesses are on winter hours.

Everything is closed now, except for the diner and the grocery store.

Which means the library's small parking lot is deserted. Even so, someone could drive by and see my car. They might even recognize it through the fog, which isn't as thick as it will be in a couple of hours.

But if we leave it until then the moisture in the air will seep into the books if the lid to the recycling receptacle isn't closed tightly.

I turn off my car and try to calm my racing heart. What if someone sees us?

"I think you should stay in the car," I tell Dyani and push my glasses more firmly on the bridge of my nose.

Dyani's shakes her head. "Not happening. What kind of friend would I be if I let you engage in civil disobedience alone?"

"You said it's not illegal!"

"It's not." My BFF unbuckles and shoves the passenger door open. "Come on. Let's go rescue some books."

Scrambling to get out of the car and follow her, I nearly trip and fall on my face. I yelp and manage to stay upright by grabbing onto the top of the driver's side door.

"Great way to start this caper," I grumble.

Why am I even doing this? What do I think I can accomplish?

"Stop griping and give your self-doubts a rest," Dyani orders.

She knows me too well.

Taking a firm grip on my wavering resolve, I march toward the narrow alley behind the library.

The community building faces part of the parking lot instead of one of the streets it sits between. Every few years there's a petition to change the address from Washington Street to Pierson Street.

My grandfather never supported what he called egotistical tom-foolery, but that didn't stop other members of our family from trying. The rivalry between members of the founding families flares with every new generation.

Like my grandparents, I have no intention of getting sucked into it.

Turning the corner of the library, my gaze darts to the garbage and recycling receptacles. I don't know how Ada managed to fit all the books she pulled from the shelves into the smaller container for mixed recycling.

"Peanut butter fudge!" I exclaim.

The answer is, she didn't.

Stacks of books are piled all around the tightly shut recycling bin, but I doubt a single one made it inside.

"If it had rained today, they would all be water damaged." I don't have to hide the anguish I feel from my best friend.

Dyani grimaces. "It looks like Ada Nelson wanted to make sure the books didn't make it back into circulation."

Living on the Oregon coast, we get a lot more days with rain in the winter, than without. Even a slight drizzle would damage some of those books beyond repair.

If we'd waited even another hour to come, some of the thinner paperbacks would be damaged from the fog's moisture alone.

"Let's get them to my car." I grab a stack and so does Dyani.

The fog is thickening and we're on our second trip when I bump into something on my way to the car. The top three books on the stack in my arms go flying.

"Ducks on a pond!"

"Ducks on a pond?" a smooth masculine voice asks.

"My grandparents didn't like swearing."

"And Mel doesn't like to be limited, so she found a way to make them all happy," Dyani pipes up from beside me.

I shove my books toward Mr. Nosy. "Hold these."

As soon as he has the books safely in his arms, I drop down to my haunches and scrabble to get the ones on the ground.

"Do you need some help?" he asks.

His deep voice carries through the fog and my heart leaps into my throat.

"Shh…someone is going to hear you," I forcefully whisper.

"Are you two robbing the library?" he whispers back, his voice bleeding astonishment.

"Of course not." I grab the last of the fallen books and stand up. "Follow me."

I march to my car.

He's right behind me, the heavy thuds of his footsteps mixing with mine and Dyani's. It's easier to pop the hatch on my electric compact with only a few books in my hands than the first trip.

Zephyr steps forward and stacks his books inside with the others before turning to take the ones I hold. He puts them in the car and then grabs the books from Dyani and does the same.

"Thank you," I tell him.

Grandma would have said he has the instincts of a gentleman.

"I'll grab the last stack," Dyani offers and then jogs off without waiting for an answer.

I push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. If you're not robbing the library, why do we have to whisper?" he asks me.

"We're not stealing the books," I emphasize. "But we don't have permission from the head librarian to take them either."

"Um, I hate to tell you this, Mel, but that's the definition of stealing."

"No. She put them out for recycling."

"Are you a book hoarder, or something?"

"It's not hoarding when it's books," I quip. It's one of my favorite sayings. Then I sigh. "She decided to ban the books from our library for questionable content."

"One of those books is the Diary of Anne Frank. What's questionable about that?" He must have seen the title in the light from the lifted hatch.

"The unabridged diary alludes to her sexuality and experimentation with another girl."

"Okay, so?"

"Exactly."

"How did you know the books were being recycled?"

"Until this morning I was the assistant librarian."

His laugh is low and sexy.

"What's funny about that? I was a very good librarian."

He groans. "Do you have any idea the fantasies you are inspiring right now?"

"Uh, maybe I should come back later, only you're my ride, Mel. And these books are heavy," Dyani complains.

Chapter 4

ZEPHYR

"The property is perfect for your needs, Mr. Nikolaides and I'm sure the owner will sell. She's a spinster and a property like that is too much for a woman alone to handle." Lionel Matson grins his bright white smile.

I'm daydreaming about knocking those caps down his throat and we just started talking. This straight man to the mafia gig is going to be harder than I thought.

First, I have to deal with people like Matson. Second, I can't kill him. Or even maim him a little.

There are other agencies further up and down the coast, but his is the one that has a lock on Deerbrush Point and the surrounding area. The other areas are too populated for what we want.

And this property is perfect for our needs.

Which leaves me stuck with the guy.

Or killing him. One of his employees could help me then. I could make it look like an accident.

Gamó. You are a legit businessman. A tech billionaire. Not a soldier of the Ádis Adelfótita. You cannot kill people who annoy the hell out of you.

"Let's go see the property," I say, cutting into some story Matson is telling me to show what a charming guy he is.

"Sure, sure." That unctuous grin glows brightly again.

If you break a guy's teeth when they're caps is that assault?

It takes twenty-nine minutes to reach the house on the bluff.

"There's no access to Ipset Cove from the mainland because of the bluffs. Even low tide requires a boat to get there," Matson says, maneuvering his luxury sedan up the long drive. "It's as close as you can get to having a private beach in Oregon."

Which is the reason we are here.

"What about access from the property?"

"There's a set of stairs that have been there for decades. You'll want to tear them out and put in something new. Maybe an elevator."

Like so many men, Matson is happy to spend the billionaire's money.

We will install an elevator, but no one who comes to the think tank can know it's there. The stairs will have to be shored up too, but I'll lock the access at sunset. For safety.

I don't need a think tank participant deciding to take a walk on the beach in the middle of the night and running into the brotherhood unloading contraband in the cove.

"Amelia should be home. She doesn't work on Saturdays." Matson pulls the car to a halt in front of a beautifully preserved Victorian mansion.

"You said the property is too big for the spinster to handle." I look around the well maintained grounds. "This doesn't look like she's having any trouble."

"She's banging around in that big house all alone. She'll be better off living in town, around people."

"You said Amelia Pierson would be eager to get out from under the property." The name fits an aging spinster almost too well.

Is Matson having me on?

"With an offer that will finance her living comfortably for several years, she'll be happy enough to sell."

Why don't I believe him?

This is starting to feel too easy. In my experience, deals that look too good to be true, are.

Matson is looking for the big commission pay off. He'll do his best to drive the price up. There's no doubt about that, but something else here doesn't ring true.

And I know what that is when the sexy librarian who starred in last night's fantasies while I beat off in the shower answers the door.

Gray eyes behind her glasses narrow when she sees Matson, her pretty lips going flat with annoyance. Then she sees me and shock registers on that gorgeous face.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone as shocked as her expression.

She's not talking to Matson, but he's the one who answers. "Good morning, Amelia. I'm glad you're home. Ask us in for coffee and I'll explain how the man behind me is going to make you a very rich woman."

Piercing gray eyes glare at me through sexy librarian glasses. "What are you doing with this guy?"

"Hey, is that any way to talk about an old friend Amelia?" Matson asks in a smarmy tone.

"You're not my friend. Your wife is my friend. But you are just a leech on the life of Deerbrush Point."

"Harsh." My tempting librarian does not like the town realtor.

"Don’t be like that, Amelia," Matson cajoles. "I've brought a lot of new business to this town and kept it going. "

She crosses her arms under her gorgeous tits, lifting them enticingly. "You keep telling yourself that. But we both know you're never in it for somebody else."

"You know your grandparents were known for their hospitality…"

If you ask me, this guy is asking for it.

Amelia's glare says she thinks so too. "I don't feel hospitable toward someone trying to oust me from my family home. And neither would they. If they knew how hard you've been trying to get me to sell to developers, they would be turning in their graves."

"That's why I'm here today," Matson says, unperturbed. "I know how much you don't want to see developers take over this land. But I have a buyer for you that wants to keep it as is."

It's time to take some control of this situation before he destroys any chance I have of buying the property. Or getting into this woman's bed. "Matson told me that you wanted to sell. Is that not true?"

"I do not want to sell." Her voice is firm, but her look for me is not as sulfuric as the one she gave the realtor.

"Why not?" I ask.

Her brows lift to a point. "Is that really any of your business?"

"Not really," I admit easily. But this property is ideal for the think tank I want to develop to help with climate change."

Her eyes soften just a little and she looks between me and the realtor. "What are you talking about?"

"Invite us in for coffee and I'll tell you." Even if she doesn't want to sell the property, getting to know this woman better is worth the time.

My cock is semi hard and has been since I saw her face on the other side of the door. I don't know why this diminutive librarian turns me on so much with her luscious curves, but I want her with an intensity I haven't wanted a woman in a long time.

"It can't hurt to hear the man out," Matson says.

"This is between her and me right now, Matson. Zip it." He's not doing me any favors.

If anyone is going to convince this woman to sell it's not going to be my realtor. And it pisses me off that he lied to me.

"You might as well come in. I don't have anything else to do. I want to try a new coffee flavor on someone. "

More relieved than I should be that she's letting us in, I ask, "New coffee flavor?"

She turns and heads toward the interior of the house and we follow her. "If you want me to listen to your proposal, then this is your payment for my time."

"Sure." Matson winks at me where she cannot see. "We'll try your coffee."

Did he not hear the threat in her tone?

This coffee is going to be something.

When we get into the bright, airy kitchen, the scent of coffee fills the air, but there's something else too. A jumble of scents. Vanilla, cinnamon, and…is that berries?

The counters are covered with half filled mugs. Most have creamer, but some are black.

The green color of one and the pinkish gray of another heighten my caution about this coffee tasting.

Is coffee supposed to be green?

Amelia crosses to the espresso machine on the counter and starts to make a new cup. It all seems pretty normal when she puts the already ground coffee into the basket, fits it into place and shoves the handle to the side, tightening the espresso basket to the machine.

But then she pulls out a jar of what looks like milk, another jar with honey and a container with ground up spices. I think.

She measures the whitish liquid into another jar, adds some honey and a heaping scoop of the spices. After putting the lid on, she shakes it until the espresso is done brewing.

Then she pours the shot into the jar and adds ice to the top.

"Is that milk?" I ask suspiciously.

I am not on the oat, soy or other not-cow-milk bandwagon.

"It's goat milk. Some people are lactose intolerant."

My nose wrinkles. I love feta as much as the next Greek, but goat milk is sour as hell. And I don't want it in my coffee.

Of course, she hands the jar of iced coffee to me. "Try that and tell me what you think."

Taking a sip, I don’t try to hide my grimace when the sour concoction hits my tastebuds. "This is disgusting."

Her lower lips protrudes. "I was afraid of that. Goat milk is kind of sour, huh?"

"You haven't tried this?" I ask, my eyes narrowed.

"Well, no. It sounded kind of gross." She turns away to make another concoction, hopefully this time for Matson. "But I thought I should test it out."

And she decided to test it out on us? "You're not as sweet as you look, are you?"

"Well, you do get to tell me your scheme for the cost of trying my new coffee recipe." This time she makes something that looks like a salted caramel latte and hands it to Matson. "That makes me fair, if not nice."

She gives him the normal drink?

The realtor looks down at the mug and grimaces. I guess he doesn't like salted caramel.

"Don't be a baby, Lionel. Try it, you might like it." She doesn't sound convinced.

I doubt he is.

The realtor tries to hand the mug back to her. "I think I might be allergic to oat milk."

She refuses to take it. "I have an EpiPen if you need one."

I give Matson a look that lets him know he has zero choice about taste testing her brew. He got us into this with his lies and now he can man up and drink the damn coffee.

With a grimace, he takes a small sip and then his face blanches. "That's not oat milk. What is that?"

"It's a secret ingredient, or it was going to be. But now I can see that probably it doesn't work. Do you mind taking one more sip just to be sure?"

Matson looks between me and Amelia and then visibly forces himself to take another drink. Turning as green as the weird coffee on the counter, he rushes to the sink and retches into it.

I have no idea what she put his coffee, but I doubt it's any kind of secret ingredient she wants to serve her friends.

"Oops." She opens her eyes in exaggerated wideness. "My bad. I guess soured almond milk isn't such a great secret ingredient."

I shudder. "You can sour almond milk?"

"Well, it sours on it's own, but sure. It can go bad like any other milk."

"And you put it in his coffee?"

She shrugs, looking unrepentant. "Yep."

The sound of more retching reaches us.

"Did you add an emetic to it too?" I ask.

This woman is turning me on with her malicious coffee tasting.

"I suppose that much salt mixed with soured almond milk could act like one, especially for someone with a violent dislike of almonds."

"Let me guess, Matson has a violent dislike of almonds, and you know this because you are friends with his wife."

"He never would have drunk that coffee if he'd know what kind of milk I used." Satisfaction shines in her pretty eyes.

My cock gives an interested jerk. My sweet little librarian is not so sweet. She'll hot as hell between the sheets.

"Now that we've paid our dues, you'll listen to my plans for the think tank and the property?"

Not that I will tell her about the facilities that will be made in the caves on the beach for my cousins smuggling operation.

"You could have started as soon as you came into the kitchen. I'll listen as long as you keep taste testing my coffee."

I look over at Matson, who is now sitting in a chair at the table looking pretty damn pathetic. "I don't think he'll be trying any more beverages from your kitchen."

She glares at the realtor. "He knows I don't want to sell and you should know it too. You can tell me about the think tank and maybe I can suggest someplace that's actually on the market for you, but if Lionel wants to stay, he's drinking my coffee trials."

Matson moans.

"You heard her," I tell him. "Either suck it up and try the coffee as it comes or leave."

"I drove you here," he reminds me in a weak voice.

Amelia dumps the contents of Matson's mug in the sink. "I'll drive you back into town."

I like the sound of that. Me. Her. No smarmy realtor in the way and the rest of the day.

Chapter 5

AMELIA

I feel a little guilty for making them both try the concoctions that I came up with in a surge of inspiration and frustration this morning.

There might be enough interest and donations to run a banned books library, but that's not going to buy groceries, or pay my utilities. The trust my grandparents left pays property taxes and house maintenance, but monthly living expenses are on me.

Which means that if I want to make the library a reality, I need a side hustle. Running a small coffee shop seemed like a good idea this morning. The lines at chain coffee shop are always four or five cars long no matter what time of day.

This place isn't so far out of town that people wouldn't be willing to drive for a good cup of coffee, especially one made with some of the unique flavors and specialties you might find in a big city coffee shop.

Only, so far, my attempt at recipes duplicating the coffee shops I've visited in Portland haven't been all that great.

My eyes fall on all of the partially filled coffee cups around the kitchen counters, and I grimace. None of these are going to wow customers with their sophistication and nod to dietary trends.

Maybe I should stick to what I know and forget trying to be something I'm not.

"What is your favorite coffee?" I bet I can make it.

I love coffee and have run my own little coffee shop for me and my friends for a long time. My grandmother used to tease and say if I ever failed at being a librarian, I could be barista.

That's probably where my idea for my side hustle came from.

"Just good black coffee. Preferably Greek and made in the Greek way, but I'll settle for a decent espresso."

Greek coffee? How do you make Greek coffee? That's something I'm going to research. Not because I hope this sexy guy comes back for more of my coffee but because I'm curious. I'm always curious.

"One decent espresso coming right up." I use my own favorite dark blend.

The rich aroma smells so good while it's brewing, I'm tempted to make one for myself. Only I've had my caffeine limit for the day. Darn it.

When the espresso is done, I serve it to Mr. I-Prefer-Greek-Coffee while it is still steaming hot.

He takes it, the espresso sized cup and saucer looking tiny in his big hand.

What would those long fingers feel like on my body?

Pretending I'm not fantasizing about naked times with the new stranger in town, I waive toward the kitchen table. "Have a seat."

He looks at the large farmer's table with benches on two sides and chairs at either end. Of course he takes one of the chairs like he belongs there, sitting at the head of my table.

Things like that don't matter anymore, do they? Grandpa always said they did.

Does this man know he's taking up the position of authority at the table? What am I even asking? Of course, he does.

Zephyr Nikolaides would exude power and authority sitting on the floor. But a man like him? He knows all the tricks for showing other people he's king of the hill too.

Still pale from his bout over the sink, Lionel asks, "Can I have some water."

"Yes," I say grudgingly before grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap.

He doesn't get filtered, or chilled and I definitely don't offer ice or lemon.

Lionel Matson has been a pain in my backside ever since my grandparents' deaths. He has been trying to get me to sell the family home because it is worth so much money.

He knows there's no requirement in the will that I keep the house, only a request for my grandparents that I maintain the property as is along with a trust that provides the money to do so.

However, the bulk of their estate when to my dad, their son. Hence my need to figure out a way to support myself while running a free library.

Because as much as they loved me, Grandma and Grandpa still had very traditional views about heirs and inheritances. My dad might have abandoned them and me, but he was still their only son. And that meant something to them.

More than me being his daughter ever meant to my sperm-donor.

It was actually a shock to me, and the rest of Deerbrush Cove, that the house was left to me. And not to my dad, like tradition dictated. But my grandparents broke with tradition for the sake of their love for this house and land.

And I'm determined to keep it a home.

I'll never sell to developers, or anyone else for that matter.

I love my home.

It's the last connection I have to the only family who loved me.

No one, not even the sexiest man I have ever met, is going to convince me to give it up.

Greek Glossary

Ádis Adelfótita - Hades Brotherhood
anax - head (of the family)
dímios – executioner
(Atlas is called Dímios as a nickname by his mafia.)
eidikós - specialist (above foot soldier)
eromenis mou - my lover
gamó - fuck
ílios mou - my sun
kai - second in command
kalós sýntrofos - goodfellas (foot soldiers)
Nonós tis Nýchtas - Godfather of the Night

Hades Brotherhood Motto: Dóste tous típota, allá párte tous ta pánta. Give them nothing, but take from them everything.

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Bonus content

OVERDUE Installment (recap)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Greek Glossary