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ホーム / Mafia / The Captive Heart / Chapter 39 - Another Kind of Prison

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Chapter 39 - Another Kind of Prison

作者: Lizz Davies
last update 公開日: 2026-05-13 05:30:59

CHIARA

The car smelled of leather and silence.

We had landed about thirty minutes ago, and I still couldn’t believe how easily he moved through the airport, There were no security lines, no questions, no waiting. The world seemed to bend for him, like it recognized him as someone who didn’t need to obey the same rules as everyone else.

Now, we were gliding down a smooth, winding road in a car so luxurious I couldn’t even pronounce its name — a Bentley Bentayga, sleek and obsidian black, its int
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  • The Captive Heart    CHAPTER 45 — The Taste of Truth

    CHIARAIt had been a week since the amusement park, and the world around me has begun to take on a strange, gentle rhythm. A rhythm that didn’t belong to the girl I used to be, yet somehow fit perfectly now.Massimo had made good on his word, he’d given me days that felt like dreams. We drove along the winding coastlines of Naples, where the blue of the sea melted into the horizon like spilled ink. The wind had tangled my hair, and the salt in the air kissed my lips. Everywhere I looked, there was color, vibrant buildings clinging to cliffs, laughter drifting from open cafés, children chasing pigeons across cobblestone squares.It was beautiful. All of it.And every time I turned to look at him, his hand on the steering wheel, his sunglasses reflecting the endless blue, I felt something pull at me from deep within my chest.He would glance at me occasionally, that quiet smile curving his lips. A smile that said you’re mine without a word spoken.We’d shared dinners that stretched into

  • The Captive Heart    CHAPTER 44 — The Sunroof and the Starlight

    CHIARABy the time we left the amusement park, the sun was slipping low on the horizon, painting the sky in bands of honey and rose. My heart was still racing from laughter and adrenaline, but it was the kind of exhaustion that felt earned, the kind that comes after joy, not fear.Massimo opened the car door for me, that quiet habit of his never fading. I slid in, still holding onto the faint sweetness of cotton candy on my tongue. He started the engine, the low hum of it vibrating through me. Music played softly, some Italian song I didn’t recognize but somehow fit the moment perfectly...gentle, nostalgic, like a memory trying to form.As we drove, the cool evening breeze drifted through the half-open windows. Then, without warning, he pressed a button and the sunroof began to slide open.“Go on,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “You look like you need it.”I blinked at him, confused for half a second before realizing what he meant. And then, laughing, I pushed myself up throug

  • The Captive Heart    CHAPTER 43 - The Amusement of Love

    ChiaraThe city melted away behind us as Massimo drove, the world outside blurring into streaks of gold and color. I sat there, quietly giddy, watching sunlight flicker against his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the wheel, confident and sure.He didn’t let the driver take us. He could have. But he didn’t.And I knew why. I think I do.He wanted this to be ours, just us, with no interruptions, no shadows lurking at our backs.When the tall gates of the amusement park came into view, my breath caught in my throat. The sound hit me first, laughter, loud and carefree, blending with music and the hiss of rides spinning in the distance. Then came the smells — buttered popcorn, sugar, smoke, cotton candy. The air itself felt alive.“Massimo, look!” I couldn’t help it. I was practically pressed against the window, eyes wide like a child’s.He gave a soft chuckle that made something warm bloom in my chest. “You’d think you’ve never been to one before.”“Not lik

  • The Captive Heart    Chapter 42 — The First Escape

    CHIARAI couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this… excited.Not nervous. Not scared. Excited. Real excitement.The black jeans fit perfectly, hugging my legs in a way that made me feel grounded, and the forest green blouse brought out the green color in my eyes. I didn’t know if it was the outfit or the idea of stepping out into the world again, but I felt more like myself than I had in months.Maybe that was the problem.Because this wasn’t supposed to feel normal.And yet, as I brushed the last bit of powder onto my face, I couldn’t stop the small smile forming on my lips.The vanity table looked like something out of a dream. My dream. All my favorite brands and products were neatly arranged, just like I used to keep them at home, foundation, concealer, the gloss I swore by, the perfume I used every day before everything went wrong. Massimo had stocked them all. He remembered everything.The realization made my chest tighten.How did he remember all this? How could he possibly

  • The Captive Heart    Chapter 41 — The Softest Cage

    CHIARAIt had been three days since we landed in Naples.Three days since the plane touched down and my world shifted again, quietly, like the sea pulling away from the shore before a wave. I didn’t know what had changed, but I could feel it—subtle, steady, dangerous.Massimo had changed.Or maybe I had.He wasn’t the same man from the island—the one who broke me down until I couldn’t tell night from day, who punished me until I forgot what peace felt like. There was something different in the way he looked at me now… something tender, almost reverent.He was still Massimo—possessive, dominant, terrifying in the way only powerful men could be—but he was also being sweet. Disarmingly so.He hadn’t tried to force himself on me, not once since we arrived. He kissed me sometimes, but never like before—never desperate, never demanding. His lips were slow, soft, full of meaning, the kind of kiss that made your body forget the past and your heart lose its footing. Sometimes his hands would b

  • The Captive Heart    Chapter 40 - Cackling Air

    ChiaraThe house seemed to breathe around me, soft light, quiet air, and that faint scent of lilies and polished wood that trailed everywhere we went.Lily.That was her name.It took me a while to remember, but as we stepped deeper into the mansion and her voice floated beside us—warm, lilting and so full of joy—the memory clicked into place. Lily Scallise. My father used to call her “the woman with the summer laugh.”She led us through a corridor lined with arched windows and golden sconces. The marble under my feet was so smooth I almost caught my reflection in it. Every detail looked deliberate—the paintings, the vases of white peonies, the faint hum of hidden music.It was beautiful here.Different from Massimo’s island mansion, which had always felt like a gilded cage.This house felt alive—full of light and color and history.“Come,” Lily said, gesturing eagerly. “You must both be starving. I prepared dinner already, just like you love it. I didn't know Chiara was coming but yo

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