Mafia King’s Regret: Winning Rebellious Bride Back

The rules weren’t written, just expected—strip, gel up, lie still, and wait for him.Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, then set it aside, falling right back into the same restless position. A soft click came from the door. Someone stepped inside, and the door closed behind him, leaving just a brief strip of light before the room slipped back into darkness. The rule about keeping the lights off was already being followed without a word.He walked in slowly. Then, without a word, the bed dipped as his knees settled beside her hips. A wave of cold crept through her chest and settled deep in her core. Without a word, his cold hand wrapped around her ankle, silencing the soft chime of her anklet. The sound faded the moment his grip tightened, and he spread her legs without hesitation.She bit her lower lip as the gel she’d already applied began to slide down her skin—useless in easing the pain. He stroked himself once or twice before lining up wi

"You’re ignoring me," Darien said as he leaned against Vera’s cubicle wall. She looked up quickly, scanning the room, making sure there was no sign of danger."I’m not. It’s just..." Before she could finish, he stepped inside and leaned closer. She pulled back instinctively, trying to keep some space between them."Then why do I feel like you’re lying to me?" he asked with a smirk, reaching out to wipe some cupcake cream from the corner of her lips with his thumb."Stop it, Darien," she said softly, brushing his hand away. Her eyes held fear—fear of Roman finding out about Darien’s presence, or worse, how Darien was starting to behave around her."You need to control yourself," she added, stepping away. She didn’t want to give him any wrong idea. She didn’t want him to read her kindness as something more. She had only needed a friend—someone she could smile with and feel normal around. Lately, however, Darien has been acting differently. At first, she brushed off his flirting. It seem

Roman was walking toward them—and somehow, Vera would be the one blamed as always.“Luciano,” Roman said, his voice cold as he stopped beside them. His jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked to Vera for the briefest moment. “I was just keeping your wife company,” Luciano said smoothly, fixing his cuff. “Didn’t think you’d mind. She’s a little… tense tonight.”Roman didn’t respond. His attention had already shifted back to Lillith. The change in him was clear. The cold man became something else—softer, warmer. Dangerous in a different way.“Sorry, I kept you waiting,” he said to her.“You’re here now,” Lillith smiled, sliding her fingers up his chest. “That’s all I care about.” Vera looked away, her chest tight. The heat of Luciano’s cruel words still clung to her skin, but this cut deeper.Lillith turned to her with a tilt of her head, lips curling.“You look like you’ve been crying,” she said, mock concern in her voice. “You always were so… delicate.” Vera froze. “What happened to your

Roman’s eyes shifted first, followed by Lilith’s and Vera’s.“Master is calling you, Roman,” said Rocco Moretti, his gaze flickering between the three of them.Rocco had been with Roman’s grandfather for nearly fifty years—taken in when he was just ten. He had served loyally ever since. Roman respected him, maybe even trusted him more than the old man himself.“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Roman replied firmly, his gun still aimed at Vera’s forehead.Rocco didn’t say a word, but the look he gave Roman said enough—he didn’t approve. Not of this. Not of her.“He just wants to check on you,” Rocco added before turning on his heel and leaving the room.The tension snapped right ba

The blood oozed steadily from his wound. The bullet had grazed his arm, but it was deep enough to make it burn like fire. The bandage his men had hastily wrapped around it was now soaked and hanging loose, completely useless. Roman sat alone in his room. He felt trapped here—by the walls, the lies, away from Lilith.His breathing was shallow as he stepped into the bathroom. With one tug, he ripped the bloodied bandage off. The red-stained cloth dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He looked at himself in the mirror—sweat on his brow, blood trailing down his arm, eyes tired and distant.It was manageable. He just needed to stitch it.He opened the drawer beneath the sink, pulling out fresh bandages, antiseptic, and a needle. As he cleaned the wound, his mind wasn’t on the pain. It was elsewhere—spiraling. He was the one who’d set the trap… and still, he walked straight into it.For the first time in a long time, he felt something close to weakness. Not because of the injury. That he