All Chapters of The Heartless Lover : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The night air was cold, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and refused to leave. My breath came out in ragged puffs as I ran deeper into the forest, my bare feet crunching against the damp leaves and twigs below. I couldn’t feel the pain anymore… not in my legs, not in my lungs. Adrenaline was my only companion, driving me forward as I clutched the stolen keys in my trembling hand. I could still hear Lorenzo’s voice echoing in my mind, that smug tone he always used when he thought he had me under control. But I was free now… or so I thought. A crack of a branch snapped behind me, freezing me in place. I whipped around, scanning the shadows. My heart pounded in my chest as fear clawed at the edges of my mind. "Jacqueline." The voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade. I recognized it instantly, and dread flooded my veins. I spun back and started running again, faster this time, but it was useless. His footsteps were closer now, relentless and unfo

The flight back to the States felt like an eternity. My mind raced, bouncing between the boy I’d seen.. the boy with my eyes.. and the woman I’d left behind. Jacqueline. She was still in my custody, still defiant, still burning with a hatred she’d nurtured for years. And yet, after watching that boy.. Théo.. run into Sophie’s arms, his little voice calling out with joy, I couldn’t shake the image of her as a mother. How had she done it? How had she carried the child of the man she believed destroyed her life, and raised him in secret? How much pain had she endured alone? Back in my study, I poured a glass of whiskey and sank into the leather armchair, staring blankly at the fireplace. Her accusations still echoed in my head. Her parents. The massacre. The blame she laid at my family’s feet. I knew every crime my family had ever committed, every drop of blood spilled in the name of power. But the Cattaneo family’s murder wasn’t among them. It didn’t make sense. And yet, her h

Lorenzo's POVThe flight on my private jet back to the states was too quiet. I had always been the type to wait for the right time, the right pieces to fall into place. But not this time. Not when the blood of her family stained my name, and the answers were somewhere between Scarface’s broken legacy and the shadows of mine.I lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it.. just watched it burn between my fingers like I was waiting for guilt to crawl out of the smoke.Haze on the other hand was staring blankly at the photograph of little Reneé, he didn't realize when the flight attendant had pour him some wine in his empty glass.“What are you thinking?” I speak out loud, causing him to wake up to reality.He took in a deep breath before answering me “I've heard of the name Reneé before, I'm just trying to recall where I've heard of her”“Are you fucking serious?” I almost jumped out of my seat “Yes” he answered relaxing on the seat. “Ahh… now I remember, years ago while I was in Scarface, a Rene

Jacqueline's POV It had been nearly a week since we met with Cheyenne—a week of digging through shadows, whispered names, and dead ends. I was pacing the length of the living room when Haze walked in, his expression unreadable, the kind of look that said he had something we needed but we wouldn’t like it.Lorenzo looked up from his seat, his fingers tightening around the glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched. I paused mid-step, locking eyes with Haze."Talk," Lorenzo demanded.Haze tossed a manila folder on the table. "La Rosa Nera exists. The psycho was right"The room stilled."I thought it was just a ghost story," I said cautiously, eyes narrowing. "It's pretty hard believing shit that comes out of Cheyenne's mouth"Haze shook his head. "It’s very real. Operating out of Italy. Their influence is quiet but deep. Trafficking, smuggling, political blackmail. Everything. And get this... they’re hosting a private auction. High-level. Invitation only."Lorenzo leaned forward. "What kind of

Jacqueline’s POVThe moment Reneé turned and motioned for us to follow her, the air shifted.She didn’t speak as she led us through the mansion, her red silk gown whispering along the marbled floors. The hallways were quiet—too quiet—and I couldn’t help but feel like we were being led straight into a trap.But something about her… the deliberate grace in her steps, the unbothered tilt of her chin, the way the guards bowed without meeting her gaze—told me this wasn’t just power.It was legacy.She pushed open a glass door at the end of the hall, and the scent hit me first. Roses. Thick and cloying and heady. But not the kind in love poems. This was the scent of thorns. Of blood. Of something ancient and cruel.The room was built entirely of glass. A greenhouse. But not like any I’d seen before.It was cathedral-like in structure, the arched roof disappearing into a dusky sky above, streaks of violet and silver from the setting sun casting ghost-light over everything. Climbing vines sca