Desperate people, p.1
Desperate People, page 1
part #1 of Mergers & Acquisitions Series
Desperate People
Mergers & Acquisitions
C.D. Gorri
Desperate People
Mergers & Acquisitions
No. 5
By C.D. Gorri
Copyright 2025 C.D. Gorri, NJ
* * *
Subscribe here:
https://www.cdgorri.com/newsletter
* * *
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, places, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either part of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights are reserved. No part of this book is to be reproduced, scanned, downloaded, printed, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of any materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
P.S. I am super excited to be able to offer you exclusive bundles available only on CDGORRI.COM for readers using my BUY DIRECT option.
Right now, I have several bundles available at a whopping 30% off the listed prices and there are several series bundles to choose from.
Orders will be delivered via BookFunnel email. Just download to your favorite app and READ!
Thank you for buying direct. Have an awesome day!
xoxo,
C.D.
Contents
Mergers & Acquisitions
Desperate People
Prologue One-Balor
Prologue Two-Lucy
Chapter One-Lucy
Chapter Two-Balor
Chapter Three-Lucy
Chapter Four-Balor
Chapter Five-Lucy
Chapter Six-Lucy
Chapter Seven-Balor
Chapter Eight-Lucy
Chapter Nine-Balor
Chapter Ten-Lucy
Chapter Eleven-Balor
Chapter Twelve-Lucy
Chapter Thirteen-Balor
Chapter Fourteen-Lucy
Chapter Fifteen-Balor
Chapter Sixteen-Lucy
Chapter Seventeen-Balor
Chapter Eighteen-Lucy
Chapter Nineteen-Balor
Chapter Twenty-Lucy
Chapter Twenty-One-Balor
Chapter Twenty-Two-Lucy
Chapter Twenty-Three-Balor
Chapter Twenty-Four-Lucy
Chapter Twenty-Five-Lucy
Chapter Twenty-Six-Balor
Chapter Twenty-Seven-Lucy
Chapter Twenty-Eight-Balor
Chapter Twenty-Nine-Lucy
Chapter Thirty-Balor
Chapter Thirty-One-Lucy
Chapter Thirty-Two-Balor
Chapter Thirty-Three-Lucy
Chapter Thirty-Four-Balor
Chapter Thirty-Five-Lucy
Chapter Thirty-Six-Balor
Chapter Thirty-Seven-Lucy
Chapter Thirty-Eight-Balor
Chapter Thirty-Nine-Lucy
Chapter Forty-Balor
Chapter Forty-One-Lucy
Chapter Forty-Two-Balor
Epilogue One-Lucy
Epilogue Two-Balor
Epilogue Three-Nico Jr
Family Tree
Also by C.D. Gorri
About the Author
Mergers & Acquisitions
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sometimes that means acquiring the one thing you never thought you’d need…love.
With histories that haunt them, each of our heroes is forced to confront his destiny with grit and determination. He can’t afford to look desperate. But all it takes is the love of a good woman to bring him to his knees.
Do our possessive alpha males have what it takes to make these mergers last?
Meet our over-the-top MMCs:
Liam O'Doyle
Connor Callahan
Ono Bottarelli
Sammy Ramirez
Balor Cruz
Mergers & Acquisitions is a contemporary romance series of connected standalones. Some stories feature the offspring of main characters from the Wild Billionaire Romance and Jersey Bad Boys series. Prepare to see familiar tropes such as enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriages, secret babies, with some violence, stalking, romantic obsessions, foul language, and explicit scenes.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the ones who aren’t afraid to work for what they want. To the hustlers and the soldiers, the determined ones and those who don’t know how to quit. The world needs more of you. Keep doing what you do…you know we love it.
xoxo, C.D.
* * *
CW: Foul language, murder, violence, coerced marriage, explicit sex scenes, mentions of pregnancy, obsession, manipulations, and more. This is a fiction book, not a dating manual or a how to of any kind. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. Your health is important, please seek help if you need it.
Desperate People
Desperate people do desperate things. Sometimes it’s warranted.
Balor Cruz
I started working for Volkov Industries when my cousin sold them his business. The transition was fine. I was good at what I did. Better than good.
But for a man trying to insulate himself from all the noise in this messed-up world, it wasn’t ideal.
Especially not with her around.
Beautiful. Rich. And not nearly the snob I thought she was. Being around Marat Volkov’s daughter is proving too much of a temptation.
I know I’m not in her league—just another misfit with mismatched eyes and a screwed-up past. All I can do is stay out of her way.
But that changes when an unwanted admirer gets too close. She might be better off without me, but that’s out of the question now.
Lucy Volkov
I knew better than to take that modeling job, but I did it to soothe my ego. What can I say? I’m only human.
I’m not used to being ignored. Certainly not when I offer myself freely to someone. But when a certain sexy, tattooed man working for my father’s company turns me down, I don’t know what to do.
So yeah, I took the job out of some knee-jerk reaction. And now, I regret it.
Someone’s been breaking into my apartment. I think it’s the slimy talent agent who got me the job. He’s been leaving me presents, and now I’m scared for my life.
Will Balor come to my rescue, or will I become a victim of some crazed stranger?
Prologue One-Balor
People think desperation is loud.
Chaotic.
That it shows up with flailing arms and slurred demands, reeking of booze and bad decisions.
But I know better.
Desperation is quiet.
Cold.
It creeps in when your stomach’s been empty for too long and the only warmth you know is the heat off a stolen router under your hoodie.
I learned that young, squatting in a gutted brownstone in Jersey, with nothing but a busted laptop and a chipped copy of Kali Linux to keep me company.
Turns out, I had a knack for making systems talk to me. Firewalls, encryptions, air-gapped networks—none of it could keep me out if I wanted in.
What started as survival turned into obsession, and obsession turned into a skill set that got me noticed by people who mattered.
People like my cousin Connor, who at one time owned the Callahan Protection Group.
People like Josef Aziz of Sigma International.
People like the Volkov brothers and Andres Ramirez.
These were the movers and shakers of the world.
They ran their empire from their tower in Manhattan.
Kind of like their own personal citadel. And I now had a seat at the table.
Me. A fucking nobody. A mongrel, as my asshole uncle once called me.
It wasn’t overnight.
It took years of ghosting through cyber backdoors, leaving fingerprints clean as bleach.
Then my cousin Connor sold his security firm to Sigma International, under the umbrella of Volkov Industries, and pulled me in.
I wasn’t looking to climb the ladder. I was just trying to stay out of the light.
But those in power had other plans for me.
One week I was an off-the-books ghost behind their firewalls—breaking in, making a mess of their so-called protection.
Next, I was plugging holes, optimizing protocols, and patching exploits they didn’t know existed.
Now, I’m in a tailored suit I didn’t ask for, sitting in a glass-walled boardroom with a view of the skyline and a black card with my name on it.
Balor Cruz.
Board Member.
Crazy, right?
Oh, and that’s Balor like sailor.
None of that Irish fada explanation shit everyone online is so fucking crazy about.
Wrong pronunciation or not, my mother called me Balor, and that’s my fucking name.
I should be proud.
But I feel like a fucking fraud.
Because no matter how high I climb, I can’t forget who I am.
A fatherless scamp from the wrong side of the tracks.
Raised by shadows and silence.
Taught by hunger, molded by grit.
What makes it worse?
What makes the fact of my parentage even fucking harder to swallow?
I can’t stop looking at her.
Lucy Volkov.
Marat Volkov’s firstborn daughter. Heiress to a tech empire that spans continents. She walks like the world owes her space, and it gives it willingly.
She’s every inch a goddess in heels and silk. Regal without trying. Unattainable without effort.
The kind of woman who turns heads and doesn’t even notice anymore.
The kind of woman who smiles like she knows all your secrets—and isn’t afraid to use them if you step out of line.
One flash of those sapphire blue eyes, and I’m wrecked.
The slightest glimpse of her creamy skin, and my entire body locks up like it’s been shocked.
Her hair, dark as midnight, falls in thick, silky waves down her back, like a cloak spun from ink.
I think about running my fingers through it more times than I care to admit.
Her lips? Full. Pink. Dangerous.
They frown when she’s concentrating, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to smooth the line away with my thumb.
But the second she catches someone watching, they perk up into a practiced smile. The kind that makes you wonder if you imagined the frown at all.
She’s not a tease.
She’s just stunning.
Effortless and electric all at once.
And I never realized how much work goes into being that beautiful until I started watching her.
And yeah—I watch her. Like a hawk. Like a fool.
Even when she’s exhausted, even when the eyes of strangers cling to her like smoke, she holds herself together.
Smiles. Says thank you. Keeps her chin high and her tone polite.
I can see the toll it takes.
But she never complains.
She’s grace in motion. Strength in a silk blouse.
And fuck, she’s too good for me.
Too polished.
Too brilliant.
Too real.
Smart as hell, too.
Not just a face. Not just a figure.
She’s a woman who reads contracts with a red pen and negotiates like she’s playing chess five moves ahead.
She sees through people. Cuts through bullshit like a scalpel.
She should be with someone worthy.
Someone who doesn’t flinch when he looks in the mirror.
Someone without mismatched eyes and a chip on his shoulder the size of a glacier.
Not a ghost in the machine like me.
But none of that changes the fact that I want her.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
And that right there?
That’s the real danger.
Because from the moment I see her, I know I’m done.
Finished. Cooked.
She’s the only distraction I can’t encrypt or firewall away.
Too beautiful.
Too kind.
Too goddamn dangerous for someone like me.
So far, I manage to keep my distance.
Even after she asks me to dinner.
Yeah, I was shocked too.
I can still see her the day she invited me.
Her lips curl around a joke about sweet desserts and late-night cravings, and I nearly lose control.
I tell her no. Lie through my fucking teeth and say I’m not interested.
Truth is, I had to say no. I didn’t trust myself to survive a night with her.
She deserves a man with a penthouse and a clean conscience.
Not a reformed street rat with a rap sheet longer than a Walmart receipt and a soul coded in regret.
Then comes the music video.
Some reggaetón superstar motherfucker with diamond grills and wandering hands.
He’s the kind of guy who gets off on flashing cash and licking microphones, and for some reason, the world eats it up.
He sees her at a charity gala her father drags her to—one of those high-profile events with overpriced tickets and shallow speeches. Lucy shows up looking like sin wrapped in silk, and this asshole decides she’s his next muse.
Writes a whole damn song about her.
A “tribute.”
A love letter disguised as a club banger.
Then he asks her to be in the video. And she says yes.
It happens fast. Too fast.
Right after I turned her down.
I can’t prove it, not really. But I know she did it on purpose.
Not to hurt me. Not really.
But because she’s human. And humans don’t like rejection.
She’s had offers before.
Modeling gigs. Commercials. Cameos.
She usually turns them down. Says no with a polite smile.
But this time?
She said yes.
And now I’m being fucking haunted by that song.
By that goddamn video.
It’s everywhere. Trending. Viral. People are making reaction clips and thirst edits, and I swear if I see one more slowed-down version of her twirling in that fucking dress, I might snap.
Every time I close my eyes, she’s there.
Lucy.
Dancing under flashing lights.
Glitter on her shoulders. That dress clinging to her body like it was sewn onto her skin.
Moving like temptation incarnate while the beat pulses and that asshole watches her like she belongs to him.
She doesn’t.
But she could’ve.
She offered herself to me—sweet and soft and real—and I told her no.
Because I’m a fucking coward.
Because I don’t trust myself not to fall so hard I forget who I am.
Now the whole damn internet is thirsting in the comments, dropping fire emojis and marriage proposals, while I sit in the shadows with my jaw clenched hard enough to crack enamel.
She’s not mine.
Never was.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to burn the whole damn world down every time someone calls her their fantasy.
Because she’s mine in all the ways that matter.
And one day?
One day I might stop pretending otherwise.
But hey—I turned her down.
Now I have to learn to live with the repercussions of my one fatal error.
What the hell did I expect, anyway?
Prologue Two-Lucy
My father once apologized to me for the strangest thing.
He said he was sorry I was born with his face.
I didn’t understand it at the time.
I was maybe nine, maybe ten—young enough to still sleep with a stuffed animal and old enough to know when adults were trying not to cry in front of you.
And I liked my face. I liked his face.
Sharp cheekbones, full mouth, long lashes, and eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing.
Everyone told me I was beautiful.
Teachers. Waiters. Strangers in grocery stores.
I never quite knew what to say.
Thank you, never felt right.
I did nothing to earn it.
I didn’t work for this face.
I didn’t study for it.
Didn’t bleed or sweat or claw my way into these genetics.
Being beautiful felt like winning the lottery on a day you didn’t even buy a ticket.
Oh, maintenance is real.
The work behind the scenes—waxing, threading, contouring, learning to smile just enough to seem friendly but not enough to invite trouble.
Holding eye contact without inviting someone’s hands.
