บททั้งหมดของ Mafia's Lost Princess: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Isabella Damon looked like he wanted to say something, but I was hoping he wouldn't press further about my sudden silence. He should understand that I was not mentally in a good place. "I want you to know that we're going to find your friends," he said, seemingly pulled out from a brief momentary confusion. I said nothing, I did nothing, but I felt much. I kept wondering why I was here. The thought occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn't have called him, but instead, I should have run and forgotten all about this. Maybe when I got to Norway, I would have called Damon and told him about what happened. I would have pressed him to be urgent and save their lives if he wanted to find me. But of course, I suddenly realized that today and would have had access to technology and would easily track me. Would it mean that I would throw away my phone? Most likely, along with many other things that could be used to track me. He gave me a reassuring smile. But I couldn't return it. I just sat

IsabellaAnswering the name Isabella was still strange to me. My brain had shut off from most things related to my family for the past eight years. Seeing all these large men with guns only made me remember things, making the name strange."Isabella," Damon said as he crowded in front of me. I thought he looked better. His skin was glowing, his eyes bright, his lips moist. I was willing to bet I looked like a train wreck. I felt like one, so I knew my face and the rest of me would carry the same message. He smiled softly and then leaned over to plant a kiss on my forehead."Why are you doing this?" I asked him, genuinely confused. His eyebrows turned downwards for an instant, and his lips curled up at the edge. Perhaps he was angry at my question, but he didn't look like he was willing to answer. "I have told you before," he said. "I've been looking for you for so long.""Why have you been looking for me for so long? Am I some sort of object of infatuation or something to absolve your

Damon "I don't know what you're talking about," the man said with a smug smile on his face. He knew I had no evidence, no proof—essentially, I couldn't hold him to anything but a baseless claim. But I knew that. However, he didn't know what I had up my sleeve. I bent to look at him. "Do you know who I am?" I asked calmly behind my mask. "Of course. Everyone knows who you are. The masked King, the mafia king of that great city of Avalia," he replied. "But this is Rome, this is Italy. You're out of your roots. You cannot come here and behave this way. There are rules, systems to all of this." Milano broke out into a smile, exposing his gilded teeth. "Perhaps in your little island, there were no rules. After all, the authorities you have, the mafia King and the six ruling households, crime—everything that is dark and horrid—runs amok in your streets. But here, we have rules that we follow. Our kind works from the shadows, and we are respected for doing so. Perhaps it would be a better

Isabella Damon mustard sensed the amount of trouble I was in and lowered his head to my breasts before covering one nipple with his mouth. I let out a sigh of relief as though I had been waiting for him to do that. Inside his mouth his tongue flicked over my nipple sending blissful notes of pleasure down my spine and then to my puss. I gasped and moaned, screaming occasionally as he continued this way for a while. In a moment, he began to toy with the waistband of my trousers before popping open the button. I suppose this snapped me out of my momentary haze of pleasure because I was able to talk coherent words. "Wait," I whispered, and he stopped to look at my face. "I don't know if I'm ready for this," I managed to say what was on my mind, but it was a mistake. He didn't need to know what I was ready for. It seemed like my body was ready for any passion underneath the shower or anywhere. "Was it?" he asked as though he didn't hear me, making me repeat myself. "I'm not ready," I

Isabella Damon had returned again. Although this time it felt different. Him picking me up like that and kissing me felt like it was something he had done every day, and I was used to it. Was it an intentional ploy by him? If it was, what was he getting at? Questions such as these swirled in my mind until I saw her again. The kind old maid came back again with a trolley instead of a tray, with a wide smile plastered on her wrinkled face. She reminded me of someone I knew from my childhood. She reminded me of my old maid. It wasn't just about the fact that they looked alike; it was their characters that were the same. Edna would always greet me with a wide smile plastered on her tanned, wrinkled face. Her skin had reminded me of old leather. But the condition of her skin did not faze her; instead, she would smile every time she saw me, give me a squeeze on my cheeks. She didn't stop this even long after I had become a teenager. She made me feel like a child, but not in a way that I