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FIFTY-SIX
publish date:
2026-09-21 14:00:47JORDYN
“How did this happen?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer. Just stares ahead, jaw clenched.
“It wasn’t just a fight,” I say, more to myself than him. “You were shot, weren’t you, Areś.”
The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush the air between us. Dante comes back with the water and sets it on the fl
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Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-SIX
JORDYN“How did this happen?” I ask quietly.He doesn’t answer. Just stares ahead, jaw clenched.“It wasn’t just a fight,” I say, more to myself than him. “You were shot, weren’t you, Areś.”The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush the air between us. Dante comes back with the water and sets it on the floor beside me and leaves the room, leaving us alone.“You scare me sometimes,” I whisper, dipping the clean cloth into the warm water ringing out the water and wiping more blood away. “But it’s not the way you think. It’s not even the violence, or the coldness. It’s the way you wear your pain like armour, how you push people out before they get close enough to see you bleed.”His eyes shift, finally locking on mine.“You think
Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-FIVE
JORDYN“I care about you, you… coglione.”I hadn’t meant to say it.Not like that.Not when things between us are already so confusing that I can barely work out whether he wants me close or on the next flight out of Sicily.But I'm not going to deny it, because it’s true. Somewhere between him repeatedly saving my arse, infuriating me beyond reason, and kissing me like he had no business putting his mouth anywhere near mine, I started caring about the bastard.
Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-FOUR
JORDYNAreś is sitting in one of the chairs when I enter the room, a woman, who I assume is a doctor, already working on his shoulder. He's topless and in only a pair of black jeans. The black vest he was wearing sits rumpled on the floor, and the sight of it makes my stomach turn.Blood covers the skin around the angry tear in his shoulder and streaks all the way down his arm, some of it dried, some still fresh.There are bruises across his ribs, another darkening along his cheekbone, and a cut near his temple that I hadn’t noticed from the window. His knuckles are bruised and split, dried blood covering each one.
Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-THREE
JORDYNThe deep, resonant hum of a motorcycle pulls me from sleep. It's a sound I know all too well by now. Low, profound, and unsettlingly familiar. I sit up abruptly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders as I peer into the inky darkness. The manor is cloaked in silence, but that sound, that unmistakable, throaty growl of the Ducati, vibrates through the floor like a distant, ominous warning.Areś.I get up, moving quietly across the room, my bare feet feather-light against the cold floor as I approach the window. Moonlight spills across the yard, casting ghostly silver bands over the gravel drive, illuminating the night with an
Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-TWO
AREŚThe adrenaline is still tearing through me, nowhere left to go. My right shoulder burns where the bullet caught me, carving a bloody path through flesh before carrying on into the night.It’s not deep. Nothing vital. Nothing Doctor Ricci won’t be able to deal with once I get back to the manor. I’ve had worse. Much fucking worse.But now that the fight is over and there’s nobody left to hit, I can feel every goddamn inch of it.And yeah, it fucking hurts.I swing my leg over the Ducati and fire it up. The engine roars beneath me as I twist the throttle and tear away from the gravel, heading for the winding road back to the estate.Cold air batters my face, cutting through the sweat still damp on my skin. Blood seeps steadily from my shoulder, soaking through my shirt beneath my leather jacket, but I barely give it a thought. My helmet is still strapped to the back of the bike.I leave it there.I need the co
Ruined by The Mafia Heir FIFTY-ONE
AREŚI'm feeling an unsettling restlessness, an untamed energy surging through me like a tempest, ready to tear apart anyone who dares look at me the wrong way.My body refuses to be still, constant motion driven by vivid images of Jordyn and Matteo, pushing me to pace relentlessly across my living room like a caged animal.I've never experienced anything quite like this before. This urgent need to expel the chaos churning within me.I snatch my phone off the glass table and dial Dante, my voice clipped and commanding. "Vieni qui." Come here. Dante appears a minute later, his presence a silent acknowledgment of my turmoil. He doesn't question why I've summoned him; he doesn't need to. He stands there, watching me light another cigarette, my knuckles bruised, my eyes shadowed with intensity. It's all the explanation he requires."I need blood," I say, my voice steely and resolute.With a single nod, Dante retrieves
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