All Chapters of Felon- A Dark Mafia Romance: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Emma VolkovThe silence he left behind was louder than any shout.I stayed seated long after Lucas stormed out, staring at the half-empty wineglass in front of me, watching the candlelight tremble against its surface. My pulse refused to slow. Something had cracked in him—something I hadn’t meant to touch, hadn’t even known was there—and the aftermath lingered like smoke.When I finally rose, my ankle protested, a dull reminder that I was still very much a prisoner in enemy territory. A maid appeared as if summoned by instinct and guided me back through the corridors. Guards watched from every archway, every landing. Their eyes followed, measuring, assessing. No hostility. No kindness. Just vigilance.Back in my room, I paced.The walls were too close tonight, the luxury suffocating. I limped to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The gardens glowed faintly under lantern light—perfect hedges, silent fountains, paths that led nowhere I could reach. Somewhere beyond those grounds l

Emma VolkovThe mansion didn’t sleep that night.I knew it the moment Lucas left me standing alone with the half-empty whiskey glass. The walls seemed to tighten, the air thickening with urgency. Footsteps multiplied in the corridors. Doors opened and shut with purpose. Somewhere below, voices rose and fell in sharp bursts of Italian that carried the unmistakable rhythm of orders being given—and followed.War preparations.I set the glass down untouched and moved to the window. The gardens were lit brighter than usual, floodlights cutting clean lines across hedges and stone paths. Men patrolled in pairs now, their silhouettes long and armed. The calm façade of luxury had slipped, revealing the steel skeleton beneath.My father was close.Not geographically, perhaps—but in intention. In inevitability.I pressed my palm against the glass, grounding myself. This was the moment where girls in stories broke down. Cried. Prayed. Bargained.I did none of those things.Instead, I cataloged ex

Emma VolkovThe helicopter blades carved the night into pieces.Wind tore at my hair as I sat between two of my father’s men, my ankle elevated, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. Below us, the Italian countryside vanished into darkness, the lights of Lucas Moretti’s estate shrinking until they were nothing more than distant stars.I didn’t look back.I told myself I didn’t need to.My father sat across from me, silent for once. Ivan Volkov was not a quiet man by nature—his presence usually filled rooms, bent conversations, demanded attention. Now he watched me with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if confirming again and again that I was real.Alive.Safe.“You should have waited for negotiations,” he said finally, his voice low beneath the roar of the blades.I met his gaze steadily. “You wouldn’t have.”A corner of his mouth lifted. “No.”The admission carried pride—and something darker.“You walked into his territory,” I continued. “You risked war.”“I risked nothing,

Emma VolkovI didn’t sleep that night.Prague lay beneath my window like a half-forgotten dream—beautiful, ancient, and carrying secrets in its stones. The city breathed quietly, unaware that men inside its walls had just shifted the balance of power with a few measured words and carefully hidden intentions.I lay on the bed fully dressed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the meeting over and over. That name. The way my father’s shoulders had gone rigid for a fraction of a second. The way Lucas had stopped pretending not to care.Witness.That was what I had become.And witnesses in our world didn’t live long unless they chose a side.The thought settled in my chest like a weight.My phone buzzed again around three in the morning. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.You should rest.—LI almost laughed. Almost.I don’t sleep well after betrayals.—EThere was a pause longer than before.Careful. Words like that get people killed.Only if they’re afraid of the truth.Another pau

Chapter Twelve: When Silence BreaksEmma VolkovThe night everything finally cracked open did not arrive with gunfire or screams.It arrived quietly.Too quietly.I sensed it before I knew it—the way animals sense storms before clouds gather. The estate felt different when I woke that morning. Tighter. Sharper. The guards outside my door stood straighter, hands closer to their weapons. Conversations stopped when I passed. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.I dressed without help, choosing black again. Always black when something was about to bleed.Breakfast with my father was brief. He barely touched his coffee.“You’re leaving Moscow today,” he said without preamble.I looked up slowly. “I am?”“Yes.”“Where?”“That doesn’t concern you.”“It always concerns me,” I replied calmly.His eyes lifted to mine, steel meeting steel. “Italy.”The word landed like a slap.My fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, but I didn’t let it show. “Italy,” I repeated. “That’s interesting.”“