All Chapters of My Godfather is my Soulmate: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Alexa's POVThe fury of my outburst still vibrated through my body, leaving me breathless and shaken. I had hung up on my dad without waiting for a response, the phone call a blur of raw emotion and venom. The silence that followed was heavy, but beneath it, a strange sense of relief settled in. The dam had broken, and all the resentment I had bottled up for weeks had finally poured out. It felt a little liberating, a little terrifying.My heart was still hammering against my ribs, and my hands trembled slightly. The sheer audacity of his phone call, followed by Elsie's threat, had pushed me to my breaking point. I sat back in my studio chair, the designs I had been working on now looking like a meaningless jumble of lines. My new beginning, my fragile peace, felt irrevocably tainted.Just as I was trying to collect my thoughts, my phone vibrated again. I flinched, my stomach knotting. Was it him again? Had I really given him another chance to hurt me? I stared at the screen, and to m

Alexa's POV The aftermath of my explosive phone call with my dad left me feeling raw and exposed. The confrontation, while cathartic, had also left me more confused than ever. The anger I'd carried for weeks had finally found an outlet, but the relief was short-lived, replaced by a dull ache of despair. He had called and asked to meet, and in a moment of reckless hope, I had agreed. The thought of confronting him face-to-face, of finally getting some answers, was both terrifying and intoxicating.But before that meeting, before I could plunge myself back into the heart of the storm, my new business offered a welcome, much-needed distraction. I had poured all my energy into it, desperate for a purpose that was entirely my own, something that no one—not my mother, not my dad, not Don Antonio—could take away from me.I was hunched over a new sketch, completely lost in the intricate details of a design, when my phone chimed. It wasn't the menacing buzz of a text from my mother or the int

Don Antonio's POV The meeting with Donald was finally happening. My office, once a place of restless pacing and anxious waiting, was now a command center of quiet, controlled chaos. The fear for Alexa's safety had been replaced by a cold, sharp focus. I had a path forward, a dangerous one, but a path nonetheless. Every detail had been meticulously planned. My security team, led by a tight-lipped and grim-faced Xavier, was briefed and ready for any contingency. The location was a discreet, private restaurant, a neutral territory that was anything but. Every corner, every exit, every waiter had been vetted and double-checked. The car ride was silent. The city lights outside were a blur, a chaotic world that felt a million miles away from the quiet, tense world inside my vehicle. I was surrounded by men I trusted with my life, each of them a testament to the decades of power and violence that had shaped my world. I had lived this life for so long that the weight of it, the constant thr

Alexa’s POV The cold dread that had settled in my stomach had now taken root, spreading through my limbs and leaving me frozen in the middle of the studio. My mother's frantic words echoed in the silence, a low and menacing hum that was far more terrifying than a shout. A meeting. A truce. In my father and Don Antonio's world, those words were a lie, a thin veil over a much more violent reality.My mind was no longer a battlefield of conflicting emotions; it was a single, terrifying thought: I couldn't wait. I couldn't sit here, staring at a blank canvas and waiting for news that might never come. My mother was a fountain of half-truths and emotional mess, a terrified report from a security guard was hardly a reliable source of information. It could be a trap, a setup, a brutal and violent end for one of them—or both.A new kind of panic, one laced with action instead of paralysis, began to stir within me. The thought of staying away, of giving Don Antonio the space he had asked for,

Alexa’s POV The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and late autumn leaves. It was the wrong kind of place for a meeting like this with my dad. Regardless, I clutched the strap of my bag, the leather digging into my shoulder as I walked toward the bench my mother had described. A public park. A place for children to play and families to laugh. It felt alien and wrong for us.He was sitting there, a solitary figure on a wooden bench, his back straight but his posture lacking its usual swagger. He wasn't on his phone, he wasn't barking orders. He was simply… still. As I got closer, I saw the lines around his eyes were deeper than I remembered, and the usually vibrant color of his suit seemed dull under the cloudy sky. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired from a long day, but the kind that comes from a long, hard-fought defeat. It threw me off, making me miss a step.I stopped a few feet away, my arms crossed over my chest, a shield against the confusing sight of