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Chapter Sixty-Two: Fears
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2025-05-30 06:09:53
Jhumie_writesLucien and Emilia are both standing at the edge of something bigger than themselves. This chapter was meant to show the cracks forming under the pressure, but also the quiet strength they find in each other. Emilia is no longer the girl Lucien took out of desperation, she’s become his weakness and his anchor. And he knows it. Coming up: new enemies, harsher decisions, and the cost of protecting what you love. Hold on, things are only going to get more intense from here.
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Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight: The Message
The mansion breathed like a living thing around her. Emilia had learned its rhythms, its noises, the way silence shifted depending on who occupied which room. She could tell when Lucien was in his study, when Julio prowled the hallways, when the guards outside the gates changed shifts. The house had become both a cage and a shield, every marble corridor echoing with whispers she could not afford to ignore.And yet, it was in the quietest hours, when her mask slipped and no one watched, that the danger pressed closest.That evening she stood before her vanity, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes. The reflection staring back at her was composed, beautiful, queenly. The reflection of a woman in control. But beneath her gown sleeve, strapped tight against her skin, the burner phone pressed into her like a thorn no one else could see.She had hidden it so carefully, moving it each day to avoid suspicion. Some mornings it slept inside the false bottom of her jewelry box. At nigh
Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven: The Vulture’s Shadow
The study in Dario Vescari’s estate smelled of smoke and secrets. Shadows clung to the corners like patient soldiers, the kind that never truly left a room even when the light chased them away. The fire in the hearth hissed against damp wood, throwing bursts of amber across the shelves lined with old leather tomes and crystal decanters.Dario leaned against his desk, glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, staring at the flames as if the answers to his growing unease might rise from the smoke. He had been waiting nearly an hour, though the man he was waiting for never moved by anyone’s clock but his own.The air shifted. A rustle, soft as silk. He knew before turning that his guest had arrived.The Vulture.He did not announce himself. He never did. He seemed to appear rather than enter, cloaked in black, face obscured beneath the shadow of his hood. Only his voice carried weight, that low rasp that cut through silence like a blade through silk.“You look restless, Dario.”Dario set h
Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six: Whispers in the Kitchen
The house slept, but Emilia did not.Lucien’s arm was draped heavy across her waist, his breath steady in sleep, yet she lay with her eyes wide open, counting the seconds. Her pulse was a drumbeat in her chest, each thud reminding her of the napkin folded beneath her pillow.Tonight. Kitchen.Rosa’s handwriting, sharp and deliberate, had carried no explanation, only that single instruction.She stared at the ceiling until the clock on the wall chimed past midnight. Slowly, carefully, she lifted Lucien’s arm and slid out of bed, her bare feet ghosting across the marble floor. The mansion was quiet, but not silent, the walls had their own pulse here. Guards shifted outside. Somewhere in the distance, a door shut.Emilia wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and moved through the halls. Her steps echoed faintly, swallowed by the cavernous darkness of the house. Every shadow seemed to lean closer, listening.When she reached the kitchen, the air was warmer. The scent of rosemary,
Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter one Hundred and Forty-Five: The Price Of secrets
The sky was paling when Emilia slipped back through the garden gate. Dew clung to the grass, the cool dampness seeping through her slippers as she hurried across the lawn. Rosa’s hand was firm at her elbow, guiding her through the shadows with a precision that betrayed years of knowing this house better than her own soul.“Quiet now,” Rosa whispered, her breath fogging in the dawn chill. “Los guardias will make their rounds soon.” Emilia nodded, her chest tight. Every second out here felt stolen, every breath a betrayal. She had not slept. Her mind replayed Dario’s face, his smooth voice, the way he had spoken of Lucien, of the Vulture, of choices she wasn’t ready to make. Her pulse thrummed with the weight of it all.Rosa pulled her into the side corridor that led toward the servants’ wing. There were fewer patrols here; the guards focused on the gates and main entrances. They moved swiftly, slipping past a yawning maid, ducking into the laundry passage, and finally stopping outside
Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Four: The Queen and the watcher
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of sconces against the stone walls. Emilia’s pulse quickened as the heavy doors shut behind her, sealing her in. She had been dragged through unfamiliar corridors, past faceless men whose eyes glinted like predators in the half light, until finally, she was deposited here.To meet Dario vescari. He wore power like a second skin; even if his looks give weak. it radiated from the slope of his shoulders, from the silence that wrapped the room as though it dared not defy him.He was not old, not the shadowed monster she had imagined lurking behind the name Vulture. His face was sharp, his eyes dark, thoughtful, like someone who measured every detail and missed nothing. His mouth curved in a half smile, as though he had been expecting her impatience.“Are you the Vulture?” she demanded, her voice low but steady, the words spilling out before her courage could falter. She had come this far; there was no point in circling the question.The man’s sm
Sold To The Mafia Lord Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three: The Stranger’s Estate
The drive was a blur of shadows and jolts. Emilia had tried to count the turns, tried to mark the rhythm of the city against the car’s speed, but with her head forced down and a black hood covering her vision, she could only cling to fragments: the rough smell of leather, the hum of tires, the occasional barked orders in clipped Italian.Every second stretched into dread.Her wrists were bound lightly, not tight enough to cut circulation but firm enough to remind her of her helplessness. That unsettled her more than rough treatment would have. Whoever had taken her wanted her unharmed. Wanted her whole.Wanted her alive.The thought carved deeper into her chest with each passing minute.At last, the car slowed. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and then the engine cut off. Hands grabbed her roughly, pulling her out. The night air hit her like a slap, cool, scented faintly with salt, as though the sea wasn’t far away.“Walk,” a man’s voice ordered.She stumbled forward, guided by stron
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