All Chapters of Owned By The Mafia Lord: Chapter 381 - Chapter 390

SARAHI backed away from the kitchen before she could see me. My hands were damp. My heart thudded so loud it felt like my chest might split.The hallway was dark and quiet. I kept close to the wall and moved slow, every step measured, like one wrong sound would give me away. When I reached the curve by the stairs, I ducked behind the thick column and crouched low.Then I heard it—The kitchen door creaked open.Her heels tapped once, twice. Then nothing.She stood there. I could feel it. Listening.I held my breath. My hands were shaking. My knees pressed hard into the marble.She stayed there for what felt like a lifetime. Then slowly… she turned back and walked in.The door clicked shut.I didn’t move right away. I counted to ten. Then ten more.Finally, I stood, heart still racing, and crept back up the stairs. My legs were stiff, like they didn’t belong to me.When I slipped into the bedroom, Marco was still asleep, his back turned, chest rising steady. I slid under the covers be

THIRD PERSON Sofia sat at the edge of her cream-colored couch, one leg crossed over the other, her posture perfect but her thoughts scattered. The soft murmur of Milan traffic floated through the open balcony doors, mingling with the quiet ticking of the wall clock behind her. Her apartment was spotless, clean lines, neutral tones, everything exactly where it should be. Except her mind.Legal files were spread across the glass coffee table, color-coded tabs poking out from thick stacks of documents. A half-empty cup of espresso sat beside them, cold now. Her laptop screen glowed with the open case she’d been reviewing—a custody battle involving two high-profile clients. Messy, political, emotional. The kind of case Sofia usually thrived on.Her phone buzzed beside her. She didn’t flinch.It was her client again, third time in an hour. She reached for the phone and answered, tone calm, clipped.“Mr. Valenti,” she said. “I’ve already filed the motion. The judge won’t overturn custody j

MARCOThe city lights blurred past the windshield as I drove with no real direction. I should’ve gone straight home. I knew that. But something in me didn’t want to walk through that door just yet—not with the weight between us sitting in every corner of that house.So I turned off the main road, took a street I hadn’t driven in a while. Old route. Quiet. Familiar.Ten minutes later, I was pulling into a narrow lot behind a bar I used to come to before things got this heavy. Before marriage… Before it felt like the walls of my own house were pressing in on me.I didn’t come here often, but the bartender always remembered. His name was Luca. Broad shoulders, shaved head, always polishing the same damn glass like he was waiting for a reason to throw it.When I stepped inside, the smell hit me—wood, whiskey, and old smoke that never really left. The place hadn’t changed. Low lights. Wooden floors that creaked when you walked too fast. Booths along the wall, bar stools half-filled.I walk

MARCOI didn’t look back when I slammed the door. It echoed hard, deep, through the long hallway like a warning. My heart was still thudding in my chest, and my fists were clenched so tight my knuckles hurt. I didn’t go back to the room. I couldn’t—not yet. My whole body was buzzing with the heat from that argument. I needed air. Or a drink. Or both.I cut through the house, ignoring the staff who stepped aside when they saw my face. I didn’t want questions or polite greetings. I wanted silence.I went straight to the back wing, the old part of the house where my father used to escape. A private bar, barely touched in years. The door creaked when I opened it, and the room still smelled faintly of oak and dust. But the whiskey was still there—lined up neatly like someone was waiting to pour it.I shrugged off my jacket and let it fall onto the stool. Rolled up my sleeves. Poured a glass. Didn’t even look at the label. Just took a hard gulp.The burn hit the back of my throat fast. I di

SARAH The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the air. It wasn’t heavy like it had been. It didn’t press down on my chest or sit in my throat like a lump I couldn’t swallow. It wasn’t perfect, but it was different. Lighter. Like the house had taken a breath, and now I could too. I stayed still for a moment. Listening. Feeling. Marco’s words were still in my mind—low, sure, cutting through all the noise that had lived in my head since Maddalena arrived. “No one gets to silence you in my house again.” I didn’t know if I believed him completely yet. But I wanted to. And that was more than I’d had in days. I pushed the blanket aside and stood. The floor was cold under my feet, but I didn’t mind. It grounded me. I tied my robe tighter around my waist, brushed my fingers through my hair, and walked out into the hallway. Everything felt still. But not the wrong kind. Not like the house was watching me, waiting for me to slip. No, this felt… normal. Or as close to normal as anythi