Chapter Eleven

Interruption

Buzz…

Buzzz…

Buzzzz…

Buzzzzz…

Rolling over with a disgruntled groan, Hermione swatted at the nightstand, unsuccessfully looking for the culprit that had interrupted her nap. Fishing her hand around the bed further tangling the sheets and thick knitted blanket she had been snuggling, she wrapped her fingers around her wand and arched and slashed it in the general direction of her alarm clock with a muttered Silencio. Satisfied that she would be able to achieve a few more minutes of sleep before beginning the torturous process of waking up, she burrowed herself under the lush throw blanket that Regulus had sent her the day prior and began to drift back off to the place between waking and sleeping.

Buzz…

Buzzz…

Buzzzz…

"Oh for the love of magic," she whined into the mattress, collecting her wand again to blindly wave it around as Ron had done when attempting to levitate the feather during their first year.

Coming more awake, she finally lifted her head up and looked at her clock. Seeing the time, she rapidly blinked her eyes to dispel the blurriness that followed inadequate sleep to see she still had over an hour until it should have begun going off so she could get ready for the closing shift at Between the Covers.

"What in the world?" she started, perplexed by the sudden silence.

When the infernal buzzing started for the third time, Hermione was finally able to place where it was coming from.

Freeing her legs from the mess of sheets and blankets, she stuffed her feet into her dragon slippers that alternated between letting out puffs of smoke and sounding off baby roars with each step she took and called out, "Coming!"

Glancing in the mirror to check the fishtail plait she had created in an effort to tame her curls before her nap, she wrapped a long cream colored cardigan around herself and pulled the fluttering ends closed with crossed arms. Shuffling through the flat, she was unsurprised to find that Lily hadn't left a note as to her whereabouts nor had she bothered cleaning up after lunch as was her duty according to the chore chart they had laboriously fought over. Not wishing to have potential company come in and see the mess in the open kitchen, she caved once again and banished the dishes to the sink, her skill in household charms beyond folding the wash severely lacking.

Disengaging the lock, she pulled back the door without forethought of who could be on the other side, scolding herself for her carelessness. Each day since the failed apprehension of Umbridge, an unshakable feeling that she was being watched and followed grew. She was most probably being paranoid given that very few knew her true identity but her rationale as to why she couldn't possibly be on anyone's radar did little to settle her. Better to have an overabundance of vigilance and caution and not need it than live to regret becoming complacent. Now if only she could get better at checking the peephole as she had done with locking the doors and windows.

"About bloody time," Sirius complained, pushing the front door open the rest of the way.

"Hello Sirius, James; won't you please come in," she deadpanned, holding her arm out for the two Gryffindors, the latter at least having the decency to wait until she nodded her head that it was in fact okay for him to enter despite being the one who paid the rent and utilities on the flat.

Surveying the living room, James surmised, "I take it Lily's not here."

"Haven't a clue when she left or where to either," she confirmed, heading for the kitchen. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be great, pet," Sirius winked, flopping down onto the couch. "So would those scones of yours; thanks."

"James?" she offered, reluctantly opening the freezer to start thawing some of the precut scones she had saved from the double batch she made earlier in the week to take with her afternoon tea while she read, the cost of service at the Briar Lounge, a bit too rich for her newly frugal blood if she wished to continue to give in to her daily indulgence.

Slapping Sirius upside the head, James smiled, "Tea — whatever you're making for yourself — would be great, Hermione. Thank you."

Pushing up on her toes and struggling to reach the tin on the top shelf, she asked, "Are you sure? I drink strawberry and elderflower. It's pretty sweet and doesn't have any caffeine. I can fish around and see what Lily's—"

"Here," he offered, coming up behind her and extending his arm over her own to pluck the tin from the shelf and set it on the counter in front of her. "Honest, whatever you're having will be great. We're the ones imposing on you before you go to work. I don't wish to put you out any further." Leaning in close to her ear he added, "And don't worry about the scones. He'll forget about them in the time they take to thaw and bake."

"I was going to have tea and read for a bit before going into work anyway. It's fine."

"Oh well isn't this just cozy," Lily sneered, slamming the door shut behind her, her eyes sharp as daggers as she looked in on them in the kitchen. "Don't let me interrupt. Please, carry on."

"I was just helping her reach the tin," James flatley explained before taking on a tone of annoyance as he added, "Besides, we aren't together any more, remember?"

"It was a fight; people fight," Lily snapped, starting the unending argument over again. "It doesn't mean a relationship is over."

"It does when one person in the relationship says, 'Fuck this; I'm done,' and proceeds to pack up their things and leave. Which I did."

"I'm just going to go to my…" Hermione trailed off, ducking under James's arm, her slippers letting out a well timed huff of smoke as she went.

"Got somewhere for me to hide?" Sirius quietly chuckled as she passed, getting off the couch and trying to make his own escape out of the on-again off-again couple's war zone.

"I see the way you two look at each other! Just admit it, James."

"There's nothing to admit; we're just friends."

"Oh and humping her like a dog in my kitchen was what? Just a friend saying, 'Hello.'"

"Blimey Lily, when did you become such a fucking bitch?" he shouted, mimicking his son when exasperated by furiously shoving his glasses up to rub at his eyes.

Leaning down, Sirius provided whispered commentary, saying, "Oh, he shouldn't have said that. He's going to be paying for that one in a not too—"

His words were cut off as Lily's hand cracked against James's cheek and she quietly seethed, "Get out," before repeating herself with a deafening scream, "GET OUT!"

"And there it is; or at least the beginning of it," Sirius finished. Taking liberty, he kissed the crown of her head and promised, "See you later, pet," following his friend out of the flat.

Stepping out of her slippers, Hermione bent down to pick them up so she could slip back into her room unheard. Taking only a step, Lily's dejected voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Why can't you be satisfied with Regulus? Or hell, even Sirius? He and Mar only fuck around anyway. Why do you have to have James too?

"It's not like you even need him or any of them. Not like I do." Glancing up from where she had been hanging her head, arms stretched out on the counter, she spat, "You're far too important to be trapped like the rest of us. Dumbledore made sure of that."

"I'm not going to pretend to even know what it is you're talking about, Lily, but know this: I don't want James, nor will I want him. Believe me or not, but not doing so is to your own detriment." Leaving the witch in the kitchen, she made for her room quietly adding, "You'll find there are very few people in this time, if any, who wish for you and James to be together more than I do. I would never, and could never, get in the way of that."

Softly closing the door to her room, Hermione dropped her slippers by the bed and shrugged out of the cardigan. Back in her clingy, ruffle trimmed pajamas, she climbed into bed, snagging her book from the nightstand. Curling up against the pillows with the swan stuffie that had arrived by owl two days prior — the nondescript bird bringing Little Dove, which she had been secretly reading a chapter at time in Flourish and Blotts, and several other books she had been wishing to purchase — she opened up the book with its glossy cover photo of a rose covered gilded cage having started it from the beginning the night before after delaying the urge to lose herself in its erotic pages after unwrapping it.

Eyes backtracking up the page and turning several back as she went, she came to the last part she remembered reading and fully comprehending. Re-reading the closing exchange of the chapter between Juliet and Maximo, her mind tried to wander once more, wishing to lose focus as it reminded her of the problem that was Professor Snape in 1979. Or more accurately, remind her of his sensual threat of her needing to be put over his knee.

The caressing purr of his words — spoken with an unrefined accent that was absent in her time, something that she found devastating for how much more stimulating it was to his already rich, intoxicating voice — were seared in her mind. The response they had pulled forth from her then, awakening again as she read and read:

"…I'm not going to be able to stop myself from fucking you."

"Okay."

"Juliet."

"Maximo," she mocked.

"I'm going to spank your ass raw."

"I don't know if I'd like that." There was a hint of a smile in her voice as she continued. "But I think I'm willing to try."

Intentional teasing and brattish behavior like the character in the book showed she was certain wasn't for her. She enjoyed praise in her everyday life far too much. Was often easily led to tears at reprimand and disappointment. So while she enjoyed the characters' exchange, trying to fantasize about such a scenario involving herself raised her heart rate. And not with excitement and anticipation. It trotted, readying for a full gallop, with stress and worry that saw her beginning to rake her teeth over her thumb as she tried not to suck on it.

The idea of being spanked however brought about a different reaction. Her lips parted on a short inhale as she caressed the slender line of her throat where Professor Snape had held her. Her thighs squeezed together as she recalled the way he had forced her to straddle his own hard, muscular leg. Her back arching and bum pressing into the bed as she thought of his words.

…You should be careful, sweet girl. Someone might just take you across their knee for defiling yourself in such a way…

Placing a satin ribbon back in the book, she set it aside again and slunk down on the bed until she had laid herself out. Allowing her knees to fall open, Hermione trailed her fingers between her breasts, pulling her camisole down as she went until her nipples were free and exposed to the warm air of the room. Teasing herself as she dragged a feather light touch over to her left breast, she lazily circled her dusky colored areola causing it to pucker and her nipple to stiffen. With her fingers at work, rubbing, pinching, and pulling before soothing the soft bites of arousing pain, she swept the knuckles of her other hand along her ribs and down over her hip, all the while imagining a much larger, more deft and capable hand with nicked scars and roughened callouses along the palm being the one to pluck and play with her. His hands as confident and sure along her body as they were when preparing a delicate potion from memory.

Her fingers walked down the slope of her hip and into her shorts, goose flesh erupting across her thighs and up her stomach as the ghost of her touch was felt with a jolt between her legs. Teasing the crevice that divided her thigh from the outer flesh of her swelling labia, her hips lifted in begging search, her mind turning hazy as she fantasized and acted out, a hand stretching across her lower abdomen forcing her back down as a phantom nip bit at her inner thigh, a dark chuckle of, "My little girl's so eager," whispering through her ears, her own voice high and breathy as she pleaded, "Please, Daddy. I'm so hot and achy."

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Yanking her hand from her shorts, Hermione slammed it down on the mattress with a growl and sharply turned her head to glare at the owl that was impatiently flapping its wings outside her window.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," she muttered, rolling out of the bed as it began aggressively pecking at her window again. Lifting the lock, she pushed the glass outward and stepped to the side for the owl to fly in, asking him, "What's got your feathers ruffled, Atlas? You're not normally so impatient."

Shoving his leg in her face, Regulus's personal owl gave a sharp hoot as if to hurry her along with relieving him of his letter.

"Yes, I know; Regulus is quite insistent, isn't he? You can relax though, I'll read it in just a moment," she tried soothing, stroking the soft feathers of his face while pulling the string around his claw loose, earning a skin splitting bite from the owl. "Ow! What was that for?"

Again pushing the letter at her and hooting even louder, Hermione sucked the sore into her mouth and grumbled, "Fine, I'll read it now. Not like I was busy or anything."

Tearing the sloppily stamped seal off the parchment — something wholly out of Regulus's always precise manner — she unfolded the scrap of paper and read the short, messy words that were there.

Hermione,

I got your letter and will respond in kind but this is urgent:

I ONLY use Atlas for my mail.

I did NOT send you those books or the blanket or the swan.

It seems you have a secret admirer. I have an idea as to who but until I look into it on my end, STAY ALERT. I'll handle this; let me handle this. Not your Order.

Watch yourself, little pen.

Reg

Reading it again and again, Hermione's eyes tunneled with each pass and her heart rate increased, until its thunderous beating was deafening in her ears. She hadn't even realized how tight her grip on the parchment had become until the sound of crinkling paper before it ripped, finally broke through, the sounds of her room and the bustling high street below rushing back.

Dropping the torn scrap of paper to flutter to the floor, she moved mechanically back to her bed, ripping the blanket off and throwing it into a corner. Following it with the swan that bounced off the wall as well as the books, she started pacing the small space like a caged animal before collapsing in a heap. Pulling at the roots of her hair, she tried to slow the panic that was threatening to swallow her whole.

She knew it. She knew she was being watched, followed, stalked. The feeling of unwittingly being under someone else's microscope wasn't something one soon forgot. And yet she had kept trying to force herself into believing that she was being overly paranoid. Though admittedly being harassed by a reporter without ethics was far less terrifying than what she currently faced.

Even banished to the corner as they were, the pile of gifts mocked her. Their presence tainting her sanctuary and unsettling her further. Unable to stay her twitching wand arm, she incinerated it all hoping to cleanse and purify the small space that had been her safety.

Still unsatisfied, Hermione pushed up off the floor and angrily began summoning a random collection of her clothes from the chest of drawers and small closet. Transfiguring a pillow cover into a duffle, she stuffed the random bits of her wardrobe inside and stripped out of her pajamas in preparation to leave hours ahead of schedule. With a pair of black high waisted jeans tugged on and a draped burgundy camisole, she shrugged into the cardigan she had worn earlier, and strapped the makeshift bag across her body. Stopping to collect several pairs of shoes and to step into a pair of canvas trainers, she wrenched the door to her room open and hurried out, ready to retreat.

"Where are you going?"

"Work, then to Hogwarts," she answered distractedly, stopping in their shared bathroom for her toiletries.

Glaring at her as she came back out, Harry's wouldbe mum accused, "James offer you someplace better? He so does love collecting us muggleborns. Feeds his hero complex. But he'll tire of you too, once the thrill of winning fades."

Coming back out of the bathroom and yanking the zipper on her bag, Hermione looked down on the red head who was flipping through a book on her couch and said, "If you took even a moment of time to get over yourself and your insipid jealousy to know me, you would see fairly quickly that I'm not a damsel in need of saving. Therefore I don't need some self-sacrificing Prince Charming to come ride in on his broom and save me. I can save myself just fine, thank you. Besides, I would much prefer a man who would set fiendfyre to the world for trying to take me from him than sacrifice me for its safety. And James will never fit that bill.

"So until that comes along, you can rest assured that there is absolutely zero competition with me for James or any other wizard you may decide to fancy. And if there should be a man who fits the things I wish for in a partner, there still wouldn't be any competition because he would have eyes for me and only me. Unlike you and James, he would make sure I would never have cause for insecurity or worry that his affection is fleeting. No one else would exist to him. You and everyone else would be as insignificant and unimportant to him as you go out of your way to try and make me feel every single day.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to leave. Some of us have more important things to do than feed the storylines of the soap opera that is the life you try to craft for yourself. And because I'm not a heartless bitch, you should probably find somewhere else to stay for the next several days as well while I handle whatever the hell is going on. Because for as awful and unkind of a human being as you are, I truly would hate to see something happen to you, Lily."

Sitting up from the couch, the ugly sneer that twisted Lily's face vanished as she asked, "What's going on? What's happened?"

"Someone has been following me and until we know otherwise, we have to assume it's because of what I know.

"Regulus is looking into it on his end and after work I'll floo to the Hog's Head to talk with Albus and Minerva—"

"Of course you will," she scoffed, leaning back into the couch. "Can't let anything happen to precious little Hermione. What a travesty if the Order was unable to use Albus's new favorite witch with ties to Death Eaters."

Gripping the bag and rolling her eyes, Hermione yelled in exasperation, "Seriously? What is your problem with me?"

"Your entire existence and the way everyone is bending over backwards for you is my problem. Poor little Hermione, trapped in 1979 without a care in the world. You're free to do whatever you want with your fake pureblood identity and the support of Albus Dumbledore's name behind you. Instead you work in a bookshop, reading your silly little romance novels, using my kitchen to bake scones and make preserves while brewing Merlin only knows what, and prancing around like a prissy princess who expects to be waited on hand and foot. Can't even be bothered to get her own tea tin, has to act like an innocent, incapable little lamb and get someone to do it for her.

"You're supposedly trained by Death Eaters and so superior to the rest of us in battle but what's your job from the Order? What does Dumbledore request of you? To flirt with Regulus so he'll make introductions for you amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight society witches where you'll have tea and attend all the season's social events that they're too bigoted to allow the rest of us entrance to.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to just craft an entirely made up identity and circumnavigate the repressive shite that's going on here. You got it handed to you on a silver platter and all you've done with it is become exactly what you say you aren't. A damsel in distress in need of a man to come in and fix things for her. Your magic, intelligence, and identity are wasted on you."

"I don't get it, I wish I did because I had hoped that maybe we could become friends or at least not so hostile with each other but I don't and —"

"Then pick up a paper and read, hmm? Now scurry along to work, princess. Your boyfriend will be waiting for you."

Shaking her head, Hermione headed for the door knowing there was nothing else she could say without further feeding the toxicity that perpetually simmered between them. Walking out of the flat and closing it behind her with an ear splitting quietness, she started trotting down the stairs, steeling her nerves in order to enter the streets of Diagon Alley as calmly as she could. Feeling as if she were being watched was small on her scale of anxiety in comparison to now possessing the knowledge that someone was in fact following her every move. Stalling at the door that separated her from what or whoever waited outside, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing her thumb along the blurred scar on her chest, drawing comfort from the subtle thrum of magic she felt along its healing points.

"Okay, you can do this. Just relax and act normal," she whispered, psyching herself up but still unmoving. "Come on, you've fought Death Eaters; you can handle a stalker."

Bouncing on her toes, she rolled her head and shook out her arms, nodding several times before pushing through the door with more force than necessary. It was only a ten minute walk, she could do this.

By the time she reached the narrow side street, Hermione's back was collecting a light misting of sweat, having shaved several minutes of her travel time in her haste to get inside and around people she trusted as quickly as possible. Making her way down the sloped, cobblestone road, she saw Mr. Adler in the window of his apothecary, turning his open sign around, his shop closing early for the day. Waving and offering the man a smile, her own mind started to wander towards turning the tables on Libby and attempting to play matchmaker between her and the handsome older gentlemen.

Popping out of his shop, Mr. Adler greeted, "Good afternoon Hermione; you're in early."

"Yes, Libby mentioned a new publisher delivery arriving today so I thought I'd pop in under the ruse of offering to help log and arrange the books but really just paw through them all and further grow my own stash," she laughed. "How are you?"

"Wonderful. Just getting ready to close up and go over the books and client registry for the week with one of my potioneers." Snapping his fingers and pointing them at her, he added, "Libby mentioned you two are close in age and as a fellow bibliophile himself, I couldn't agree with her more about how splendid it would be for you two to make an acquaintance. Let me fetch him."

"Oh Mr. Adler, no that's okay. Honest," she stressed, her face starting to heat.

"Call me Cale, dear. And I insist. He spends far too much time working as it is. Has nearly double the workload of all my other potioneers. Wasting his youth if you ask me. Meeting a pretty witch like yourself will do him some good.

"Though I warn you, he can be a little prickly," he added in a conspiratorial whisper before heading back inside and waving her over to follow.

This is so not my day, she silently whined, momentarily debating how poor a reflection she would be upon Libby if she dashed into the bookshop instead.

Crossing into Bespoke Brews, Hermione marveled at the dark teak wood that made up the shelves and cabinets, each lined with meticulously ordered glass jars of both ingredients and already prepared potions and creams. On round, marble topped tables in the center were a collection of various types of cauldrons, stirring rods, cutting boards, and blades. And intermingled throughout were small pots of fresh herbs, flowers, and other greenery surviving a dual purpose in giving the shop a wonderful, earthy fragrance and being on hand for fresh collection in brewing.

Reading the labels as she passed and recognizing her future professor's handwriting on many of them, her eyes grew wide at the rarity of some of the items on offer. Beginning to work her way back towards the till where the most coveted and expensive of items seemed to be congregated, she removed her bag and helped herself to the library ladder in use and began climbing up in search of White Moon Lotus. It was a long shot that Mr. Adler's shop would even carry it and most certainly something she would have to end up enlisting the Marauders in helping her steal — the thought alone already making her feel guilty — unless James and Sirius would be able to comfortably bankroll such a frequent and expensive expenditure. Still, she needed to know and with all the other things in the store's possession that she had otherwise been ignorant of being available for purchase in Diagon Alley, hope eagerly began to unfurl within her.

"Emerald Vine… Red Indian Pipe… Western Underground Orchid…" she slowly read to herself, double and triple checking each plant as she passed where in the ordered system White Moon Lotus would be found if available.

"Something I can help you with, angel?"

"White Moon Lotus. Do you have it or know of where I can get one?" she absently answered, starting to walk back down the ladder, failure settling in as she once again came up empty handed.

"Unfortunately no. Not even our clientele is in want of anything that rare. I may know a place though."

Placing her hand in the one offered as she got to the final few rungs, Hermione hopped off with renewed hope and excitedly looked up only to be met with the dark eyes of the wizard Libby and Mr. Adler had wanted to introduce her to. The very eyes that now more than ever had taken a starring role in her mind. Meeting the intense gaze of the much younger Professor Snape as he closed his long fingers around her and pulled her closer, her stomach somersaulted, sending her into acute awareness of him and banishing her thoughts of aiding Remus through his coming transition.

The lingering scents of whatever he had been brewing; the gentle caress of his thumb along the back of her hand; the soft crepe color of his lips; the absence of the fine line between his brow that would develop over the next eighteen years from poorly tolerated teenage idiocy and the weight of two wars; his imposing size as he towered over her, making her feel diminutive by comparison; the raw magical power that clung to him and made him such a formidable and desirable force; that same power, pulling at the strings of her own magic and that of her scar, rolling and crackling between them like the static that filled the air before lightening set fire to a dark, heavy storm filled sky.

Attempting to snatch her hand back and step away before she became too lost to him, she murmured, "Let go of me."

"I'd rather not, Hermione. In fact," he drawled, the hairs at the nape of her neck coming alive, "I quite like having you this close."

"Well I'm not a fan," she protested.

"Don't lie; not to me."

"I'm not."

Turning her hand over, he started to map the lines on her palm. Finding the trail of faint scars that remained from when her hand had been ripped apart by a carnivorous bush in the Dark Forest when hiding from Professor Lupin, he slowly brought it up to meet his lowering mouth. With penetrating eyes that tracked and surveyed every minute reaction of her face, he gently pressed his lips to the silvery tears, the points of hypersensitivity making her breath hitch while her eyes fluttered and fell closed under imagination as he touched the points that no longer felt sensation.

Pushing the sleeve of her cardigan back, Professor Snape followed the blue of her veins to her wrist, the featherlight, whisper of a kiss to her pulse threatening to break down her resolve with each labored breath that escaped her. She wanted this, him. She wanted whatever was brewing between them. She wanted, just once, to not be the one to make the right decision; the choice of sacrifice that led to the betterment of everyone else. One moment of selfishness, to have what she desired and craved for a single night. Let someone else carry the burden and deal with the repercussions, so she could fall into surrender.

"Even if your body wasn't giving you away—" he whispered along her neck, having pulled her near flush against him as she started to drift under his spell, "—your thoughts are, sweet girl. You are very much a fan of this, of me, of what you know I can offer you. Why fight it?"

"I don't want to," she confessed.

"Then don't. Whatever you're carrying that holds you back, tell me and allow me to take it from you. Let me fix it."

"You can't fix this, Snape."

"Severus," he corrected, his nose trailing along the line of her neck. "Give me a chance, Hermione."

Shaking her head, she responded, "You don't even know me."

"But I want to. I want to know you," he quietly rebutted, pulling her arm to wrap around the back of his neck. Kissing her other hand and bringing it to meet the first, he added, "I want to learn you." Then lifting her onto the counter atop the cupboards and fitting himself between her thighs, he gently grasped her hips and murmured, "I want to bring you to the point of trusting me enough to repeat aloud what you wished to call me the other night. I want to hear you say it, whimper it, scream it. Let me show you how well we fit together; how well I can care for you; let me be your safety."

"Oh, forgive me," Mr. Adler said with a startled but delighted chuckle, the door to the back office swinging shut on the moment. "I'll just uh…"

"Son of a bitch," Severus swore under his breath, his forehead coming to rest on her shoulder in reluctant defeat.

Seizing the moment, Hermione pushed him away and hopped off the counter, picking up her discarded bag. "Thank you, Mr. Alder," she rushed out, bumping into a table and rattling a jar of stirring rods that her once and future professor shot out to catch before they fell over. "I'm just going to… Libby and the books… bye!"

Darting out the door and across the narrow path into her own place of work, Hermione didn't stop retreating until she made it into the office, where she collapsed in one of the chairs that sat before the desk in a dejected heap.

"Oh I know that look," Libby smiled. "You just met all sorts of delicious trouble didn't you?"

Looking up at the ceiling and scrubbing her hands over her face, she responded, "You have no idea."

"Well, I'll get us a tea spread together and you can tell me all about it, sparing no detail," the older witch excitedly decided. "Be right back."

Alone in the office, Hermione pushed her sleeve back up and traced the phantom tingle that was left behind in the wake of Severus's kiss. Closing her eyes, she quietly surrendered, "I want you to show me, Daddy."

AN:

Little Dove by Layla Frost, is a real book, as is the excerpt I included. It's an age-gap, mafia romance with elements of DDlg and kidnapping. I read it last year during my extended hiatus from fan fiction and thoroughly enjoyed it. It was easily one of the best books I read during 2022 and if you're interested, it is available on Kindle Unlimited. I haven't read anything else by the author but to my understanding, DDlg romances are sort of her speciality.