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He's Gone Lonely Beyond Control
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2025-08-27 08:00:54DANTE'S PERSPECTIVE
BACK TO LUCCHESE ESTATEI didn’t kill Marcini. Not yet. I left him breathing, barely. Told my men to watch him like hounds, let him run in circles, see who he meets. La Rosa Nera. The Russian prick. Whoever shows their face around him, I’ll know. And when the time comes, I’ll take them apart piece by piece. But the fire in my chest didn’t die when I walked out. It just got worse. By the time I got back to the estate, I was shaking with it. My clothes were still stained, blood, dirt, gunpowder. I didn’t give a fuck. I walked straight to the bedroom and collapsed on the mattress, boots and all. Her side of the bed was cold. Empty. I buried my face into the sheets, into the ghost of her scent. For a second, it felt like she was still there, soft hair on my chest, that tiny hand pressed against me while she slept. I remembered her eyes in the dark, the way she’d look at me like
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My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Books Hinting a Pattern
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My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Voronin Confirmed in Her Territory
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My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Foreign Infiltration Confirmed
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVELA ROSA NERA CAR - UNDERGROUND SHOWROOM MIDNIGHT - DAWNThe leather of the backseat pressed cool against my legs as I leaned back, hands folded neatly on my lap. Renzo drove with the steady precision I expected, Alfonzo at his side, silent and alert. Nico sat beside me, muscles taut, eyes scanning every passing shadow like the city itself could betray us.“Still can’t believe you did it,” Nico muttered, voice ragged, low. “Just… pulled it off. No warning, no mercy.”I didn’t answer. I let the silence hang, letting him stew. My lips curved faintly, just enough to tease, not enough to soothe.The underground showroom appeared, a maze of polished, modified cars, the hum of clandestine commerce thick in the air. Alfonzo shifted, lifting the bag. I watched, detached, as he flung it into the crowd. The head skidded across the concrete, rolling to a stop between the sleek, armored cars.Chaos erupted immediat
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Nico's Reward - She Kneeled
CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE LA ROSA NERA CAR - MIDNIGHT I didn’t look back. The flames could swallow Marcini whole, they could carry his arrogance into ash. It didn’t matter. Nico followed. Not because I called for him, but because he never lets me walk away alone. I slid into my car and, as expected, he left his behind. A silent choice. Mine over his. The doors shut, sealing us in that quiet where smoke still clung to the night. “You’ve lit a fuse,” he said, his voice low, almost amused. “Dante will come for blood.” “He already does,” I answered, smoothing my dress over my knees. “One Russian boss less in Italy is one step closer to peace. Or control. Whichever word tastes better to you.” His eyes lingered. Measuring me, like always. “You make it sound simple.” “It is.” That silence stretched, until he leaned closer. The flicker of fire outs
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent His Ground Turned Hers
DANTE’S PERSPECTIVE MARCINI’S WAREHOUSE – NIGHT That bitch just shot him. No hesitation. Just steel, smoke, and silence where a man’s begging used to be. Marcini’s body slumped, his blood running like filth across his own floor. Worthless bastard. Gave up an alias and then died like the rat he was. The Driver. I clenched my teeth so hard it rattled through my skull. The fucking Driver. Roman Voronin. A Russian thief dressed up as a king, thinking he can carve highways through Europe and step foot into Italy like it’s his racetrack. My racetrack. And she, La Rosa Nera, she sat there like the execution was nothing. Veil, voice twisted mechanical through that changer of hers, tone cutting into me like iron. “Marcini was already dead,” she said, cold, like it was fact, not choice. “He gave us what we needed. Nothing more.” Needed? I didn’t need scraps. I needed that Russian
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent The Driver
CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE LA ROSA NERA MARCINI'S WAREHOUSE - NIGHT Marcini’s voice cracked under the weight of pain and fear. “You....you think you stopped something? That fire, that shipment you burned-” he coughed, shaking, blood pooling around his ruined foot. “That wasn’t just random stock. That was the final delivery.” Dante’s eyes sharpened, the predatory stillness settling over him. “Final to who?” Marcini hesitated. A mistake. Another soft click echoed as I pulled the hammer back again. His eyes bulged, panic forcing his tongue loose. “Moretti! It was Moretti’s! His collection...cars, prototypes, guns fitted inside. He’s been waiting for months....months!” The name dropped like acid. Dante’s jaw flexed, his teeth grinding audibly. “Carlos Moretti.” Nico gave a low whistle, amusement dripping from him like smoke. “Well, isn’t that poetic. Italy’s golden collector unknowingly being sp
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