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Chapter 153: The Shattering (Leya's POV)
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2025-09-06 03:03:26
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Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 157: The Patriarch (continued)
The house remained overnight, slicing through all clefts with blade-edged, hard bone, light above shadow. Samuel Blackwood had his study, a study redolent with the scent of old leather, cigar smoke, and the iron smell, reminding him of things forgotten. Walls lined with shelves of books, book covers remembered long ago, more trophies than books, bearing witness to a string never sagging, never broken.A single smoldering lamp on his desk, amber liquid dripping on paper and ledgers. Samuel sat back in his chair, the glass of whiskey between the tip and the ball of his thumb and index finger. He rocked it gently back and forth, not to consume it, but to watch the amber liquid trickle like flame in a container.Leya thought she lived too fast.He remembered the face — white, trembling, obstinate — because she had half-knelt-fallen on his study floor. She had crawled forward onto herself, her voice broken as she pleaded not for herself but for the child. His granddaughter had kept insisti
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 156: The Patriarch
Samuel Blackwood's workrooms had stretched out longer that evening, as though the house itself knew she shouldn't be there. Every step on the rich Persian rugs was muffled and stifled, but her racing heart was so hollow it resonated off paneled walls.She'd had no bed of her own today, no made bed, no bucket. Just her — shawl tied tightly over her head, stiff and exhausted. Weeks now, she'd endured what no human being ought to have endured: the tray shoved in front of her all day until wrists ache, scrubbing the floor on stone floors when sickness closed up throat, coal and water pails dragged through corridors until back aches.But to the door of the old man only did she go. For life in her so weak — life to keep her alive — she stayed.There creaked the oak door, there were Blackwood coats on it: a crown, a crown without compassion, swords, ravens, swords. A wisp of smoke with the delicate creaking under the door.She knocked once, anxiously."Come in," the voice harshly grated.Low
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 155: The Outsider
The weeks dragged out like lead weights.The servants' bell roused her from restless sleep day after day, rousing Leya with the same earnest prayer wedged in her teeth: let my child live, let my strength endure another day. But strength was being drained from her step by step, with eachinous chore Blackwoods exacted of her.Her own body trembled where she stood, her arms around enormous heaps of cut-crystal glasses. Her lower back hurt from scrubbing with her hands and knees for hours. Her bulging belly before her reminded her with each step that she no longer moved anywhere alone. And to the family, her bulging belly was not life—life was power negotiation.Fifteenth morning, Eleanor summoned her to the drawing room in the east, the drawing room glowed golden when sunlight descended across high windows of glass, and gilded surrounds emanated like light, Eleanor reclined on the velvet chaise, crossed legs neatly, while Vivian stood by the mantel, a creeping figure with hands folded, h
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 154: The Burden
Blackwoods didn't shriek.They didn't assault her, or imprison her. They had something wider, wilder, and kinder than anger.They employed her.Eleanor's laughter flowed down the passages like infection. It trickled through half-open doorways, off plush cushions, from passages where she was spread out like a queen with a blessed-damned crown.One morning recess, skipping on her hand on a ringing silver tray, honeyed musically sweet to rouse interest, was Eleanor's voice."For goodness' sake, little bird, don't leave Blackwood heir on floorboards. The marble marks so easily."Her teacup rang, light as the laughter to boot.Vivian didn't smile. She wasn't loose without. She slammed the book she had been reading shut and glared up at Leya. Those pale blue eyes balanced her like a butcher balances flesh and bone."She is probably busy," Vivian said coldly, lips compressing. "Idle hands are the devil's tools. And make them believe they are something more."Something more.Those words hung
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 153: The Shattering (Leya's POV)
Darkness adhered to the panes, silvering the glass with moon. Leya paced back and forth in the hall outside his study door, palms damp, heart pounding at her ribcage as though it would explode out. She had heard the rumors which had been whispered amongst servants all morning, felt Eleanor's icy gaze stabbing her as she passed, and heard Vivian's icy laughter ringing down corridors.But it had not mattered.What had mattered was he.Shaking hands grasped the crumpled piece of paper — evidence she had stolen from the doctor's bag and possessed for days. Evidence of truth in her womb. Evidence she bore not shame, not lies, not another man's child — but his.Harrison's.The man she'd loved since he'd pulled her from the broken bloodied ruins of her family, the man whose momentary kindness had been enough to make her think the world didn't have to be quite so broken.She swallowed hard, her throat dry tonight he'll listen. Tonight he'll look. Her hand rose in hesitation then knocked gentl
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 152: The Storm Behind the Mask (Harrison's POV)
The hallway was too quiet.The silence she had departed was as hard as stone, as heavy as marble and He could still hear, far away, the wild whizz of her skirts fleeing, the short, truncated cadence of her footsteps softened by corridors older than empires. He could still see the stark shape of her shoulders, bowed and shaken under the weight of the universe itself.And he could still feel the lie he had spoken — the lie that had leached the color from her face, sent it trembling, white, as though he had wrung something hurt out of her hand.Never mine.They were knives. His knives.Harrison breathed air, slow and low, as one does but spits out without eyes to mark the watch. He breathed himself clear of the loose gawkers who jeered in the corners and smiled behind half-open doors, and he walked the west wing. The paintings walked along with him by — Blackwoods history, their painted eyes heavy with judgment's weight.He had not complainedOr had been trying to persuade himself, at an
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