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Chapter 76 Captains’ Revolt
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2025-09-15 17:16:10
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My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 76 Captains’ Revolt
AsherThis is starting to feel like déjà vu. Being back in the warehouse for another meeting in less than 48-hours rankles, but it’s necessary.Bruce drops a woven basket in the center. “Phones.” He waits with that patient, immovable look that makes men remember they are mortal.“We’re done playing nice,” I say. “Their bridge hit failed. A team tried our back stair and left a stain on my pantry door. Sebastian is sitting in a federal room because someone put my bait in his pocket and waved a camera. This is not random.”DeLuca clears his throat. He always clears his throat before he crawls. “With respect, Boss-”“Say it without the sugar,” I tell him.“Sebastian’s a liability,” he says, words tumbling out once permission lands. “Let the Feds have him. We keep our distance. The Sicilians-” he tilts a palm, like we’re weighing produce “They’re offering routes. We bend the knee, keep our ports and live to fight later.”“Later is what cowards call never,” Bruce says mildly.Ferro leans in
My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 75 Blood Debt
CaterinaHe makes me meet him in a side chapel, as if God is a better witness than lawyers.The church is one of those narrow, old-world pockets squeezed between laundromats and a locksmith that never seems to be open.Candles gutter in red glass. Plaster saints pretend not to listen. Bruce stands at the door and becomes part of the architecture. Hands loose, eyes counting exits. He moves a little stiff from the knife that kissed him this morning, but he refused to let anyone else come with me.My father arrives on time because he believes punctuality is morality. Black coat, darker eyes, two men who look like they could be carved from the same block as the columns. He doesn’t sit. He fills space the way old money does, with silence and disapproval.“Papà,” I say.“Don’t,” he answers, and the word is clean as a blade. “You forfeited it.”He looks at Bruce, then past him, deciding whether the man at the door is furniture or weather. He chooses weather and faces me again. “You embarrass
My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 74 The Second Cut
SebastianThey don’t knock.They spill out of the elevator at 9:08 like the building ordered new furniture. Navy windbreakers, matte faces, a woman with a clipboard who has never once lost a stapler.“Sebastian Boucher?” the lead asks. He already knows. He wants the sentence in the air so the cameras catch it.“Yes.”“Federal warrant. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, securities fraud, money laundering.” He reads me my rights in a voice dry as sand.I refuse to show them how terrified I am. I learned the choreography of handcuffs already. Palms in. Chin up. Don’t give them your face like a gift.They turn me at the turnstiles. Yesenia from cleaning is standing very still beside her cart. One of the agents makes her roll the cart back three feet and she does, murmurs “Dios te cuide” so soft it’s for me alone, then glares at his badge like she’s memorizing it for later.Two go to my office with empty bags. I watch them take my laptop, the backup drive, the nothing
My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 73 Breach of Sanctuary
EmmelineThe kettle screams like it enjoys bad news.Caterina pads in wearing Bruce’s t-shirt like a stolen flag. I’m glad to see they’ve finally taken a step in the right direction. The princess and the bodyguard. It should be a serialized fiction.Before I can comment, the lights blink. A half-second hiccup that makes the pendants shiver and the thermostat forget its manners.Bruce’s head turns before mine. His hand goes to his radio, but the radio stays dumb. The intercom bleats once, a cheerful little ding-dong that has never, in the history of New York, meant anything but trouble.“Front door,” Caterina murmurs, eyes gone sharp.“No,” Bruce says, already moving. “Service stair.”He’s right. The camera feed on the small screen by the pantry shows a man in a gray maintenance uniform carrying a bucket with no weight in it. The lock indicator flashes green when it shouldn’t.“Manual cut,” I say. I press the panic toggle under the counter. The shades drop with a metal whisper. In the
My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 72 Ambush on the Bridge
AsherBruce drives us to the meeting. I ride shotgun, hands loose, mind tight.We kept the convoy small to look uninteresting on the approach to the Manhattan Bridge.“Two lanes up,” Bruce says, voice calm as a metronome. “Box van drifting, no plates.”I watch the reflection in the window. A cheap cube truck creeping to match our speed. On the pedestrian path, a shadow keeps pace, coat too heavy for the weather, backpack too heavy for a tourist.“Tail car?”“Three lengths back. Clean so far.”I text Emmeline a single dot. She reads me like a cipher. One dot means I’m in motion, two means delayed, three means stop what you’re doing and lock every door. Today she gets one and nothing else.Jackson’s at the safehouse with Maria, wrapped in the loud teapot and the dinosaur toothbrush. Good. Let them try to take what’s mine when I am not there to answer.The box van drifts again, one tire kissing the lane stripe. The backpack man lifts his phone.“On my count,” I tell Bruce, rolling the wi
My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back Chapter 71 The Wolf at the Door
CaterinaAlessia’s last text is a knife in pretty handwriting.They pledged. Nonna made them kiss the ring. Don’t come back.I put the phone face down on the island. It still burns through the marble.Bruce is a shadow in the doorway, broad enough to be mistaken for architecture. “Phone,” he says, palm out.I slide it across. “I’m not going to run.”His mouth moves the smallest amount. “That’s not why I’m taking it.” He pockets the device, then taps the jamb as if testing a hinge. “Door stays locked tonight. You stay where I can see you.”“I’m not a flight risk.”“No,” he says, stepping in, “You’re a woman who thinks pain is a reason to move. I’m removing reasons.”It should irritate me. It steadies me instead. I lean my hip against the counter and stare at the espresso I’m not going to drink.“My father disowned me over text. He cited God and shipping routes in the same sentence. Poetry.”“Your cousin warned you,” he says.“She tried.” I inhale. It catches. “They’re going to make her
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