All Chapters of The Mafia Alpha's Triplets: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Prologue Dharna moaned as his gaze travelled over her bare skin. He wasn't her mate; she was certain. Her wolf remained silent, the bond absent.And yet, his scent was an addiction, and his touch ignited a fever. It was as if she’d touched a live wire, the electricity racing through her marrow. She clung to him, their bodies fusing in the heat.He nipped her earlobe, his breath hot against her neck, before his teeth sank into the sensitive skin there."You will never forget this night," he whispered against her ear.Then, he thrust home, shattering every barrier left between them. Chapter - 1"Didi… am I going to die?" The words slipped from Ritika’s lips like a fragile whisper, trembling in the sterile air of the hospital room. Her frail body seemed swallowed by the oversized gown, the fabric hanging loose on her thin shoulders. Sixteen years old, yet her face carried the softness of a twelve-year-old child, untouched by the years she should have lived. Dharna froze mid pour,

* Present Time *The bus hissed to a halt at Dharna’s stop. She stepped down, the afternoon sun spilling across the pavement, and walked the short block toward her office. Six months into her architecture job, she still carried the weight of Ritika’s treatment on her shoulders. The salary was decent for a fresher, but never enough. So evenings were spent tutoring children from affluent families, weekends filled with extra lessons, every rupee carefully saved for her sister’s surgery.Inside the office, a chorus of greetings met her. “Hello, Dharna.”She smiled back, grateful for the warmth of colleagues who had become her allies in a place where not everyone wished her well. Her work often drew praise from the higher-ups, more than those who had been here longer, and envy had sharpened into quiet hostility.She reached her desk, set down her bag, and brushed her fingers across the frame of her family photo before opening her laptop. The familiar ritual steadied her.Dharna was halfway

Dharna opened her eyes with difficulty, the blazing light of the sun piercing through her eyelids. She raised a hand to shield herself, wincing as a dull headache throbbed behind her temples. Her body ached as though a truck had run her over. Beneath her, a soft mattress cradled her weight. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to recall what had happened before she lost consciousness. She sat up slowly, scanning the unfamiliar room. Where am I? The memory returned in fragments—the screech of tyres, the blinding headlights, the sharp pain, and then… a pair of long legs in black leather shoes stopping near her. Her gaze dropped to her clothes. They were intact. Relief washed over her, though unease lingered. Who brought me here? Why not a hospital? Just as she swung her legs off the bed, the door creaked open. A man stepped inside, halting mid-step when he saw her awake. His eyes locked on hers, intense and unyielding. He wore a grey T-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair dishevel

The skyscraper loomed like a fortress against the night sky, its glass exterior reflecting the city lights. Armed men in black uniforms patrolled every corner, their weapons gleaming under the floodlights. Each floor was a checkpoint, every visitor scrutinised, every item inspected. The building breathed vigilance. On the topmost floor, behind floor‑to‑ceiling windows, stood a man draped in a black bathrobe. His tall frame was rigid, his posture commanding. In one hand, he swirled a glass of whisky, amber liquid catching the glow of the city. In the other, he toyed with a sleek pistol, spinning it idly between his fingers as though it were nothing more than a trinket. His grey eyes, cold and unreadable, scanned the skyline. Finally, he set the gun down on the side table with deliberate care, picked up the phone, and dialled. His fingers were long, precise, betraying no hesitation. “Boss,” came Rohan’s voice from the other end, deep and steady. The man’s tone was clipped, commanding

Rohan walked with measured steps toward the CEO’s office, his polished shoes echoing faintly against the marble floor. He knocked once, firmly, before pushing the door open. Inside, Mr. Johnsons sat slouched in his chair, fiddling with his phone. He was a middle‑aged man with thinning hair and a protruding belly, his shirt straining slightly at the buttons. At the sight of Rohan, he scrambled upright, his face breaking into a wide, ingratiating smile. “Mr. Kapoor, welcome, welcome!” His voice was syrupy, almost desperate. He hurried forward, extending his hand. Rohan clasped it briefly, his grip firm, his expression unreadable. “I was waiting for you, Mr. Kapoor. Please, sit.” Johnsons gestured to the chair opposite his desk, his tone dripping with flattery. Rohan sat, his posture straight, his eyes scanning the office. Johnsons settled into his own chair, leaning forward eagerly. “The papers are ready,” Johnson said, tapping the file on the desk. “Already signed by the higher‑up