All Chapters of A Pet for the Mafia Dons: Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

Egor looked at Tatjana dispassionately as she lay on her side on the bed, sniffling.She was securely bound, her hands fastened behind her back with zip ties, while her friend lay under the bed, gagged and similarly bound, eyes wide with terror.If Tatjana had ever seemed attractive, it was all gone now; her face red, with a shiny nose and red-rimmed eyes, her mascara streaking down her cheeks, she looked exactly what she was, a terrified young woman.Tatjana tried to shake her head to dislodge the blonde hair that was sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead, all to no avail. The man had secured the ties so tightly, she moaned in pain, having begged him to loosen them piteously. For her efforts, he came up to her, gripped her hair and gave her a backhanded slap. then he gagged her roughly, pushing her down onto the bed, leaving her helpless and sobbing into the smelly gag.What have I done? Thought Tatjana desperately for the hundredth time, her head sinking onto the smelly coverlet,

Lucien Delano paused for a moment and glanced at the once-shiny number that had been printed on the door.Room 302.The room where he had been instructed to enter by the kidnapper.The distorted voice had called to give details about handing over the ransom the previous day.Lucien Delano could still hear the mockery ringing in the voice, as if the kidnapper was laughing at some private joke . A joke on them.“… if you wish to save the Bear’s young niece.” The speaker had smirked over the phone.He pictured the Bear’s traumatised face.Something seemed to hold him back, but he scowled. He was not going to let a hunch stop him.A small whimpering sound came to him from inside the room, and he stood, frozen for a second.Taking a deep breath, the Mafia Don put out his large hand on the handle, his senses on full alert.Something held him back, not because he was alone. He had taken on many men single-handedly, in the ring, on the streets, surprise attacks, all of them, and he had lived

When Bianca walked into the Casino, she was instantly aware of the muted hum of activity in the place. She had begun to enjoy turning up before it was crowded with the people who arrived, eyes gleaming, an air of anticipation around them. A greed. A hunger.Now, the huge Casino was deserted. And Bianca loved it.She walked around, musing.In the afternoon, a casino feels like a stage before the curtain rises — hushed, dimly lit, holding its breath.The overhead lights are low, not yet dazzling. A soft amber glow spills across the silent slot machines, their screens looping idle animations, spinning cherries and sevens that no one watches. The roulette tables are deserted, the green felt pristine, numbers waiting for fate to spin them into relevance. Blackjack and baccarat tables lie still, chairs tucked in, cards not yet dealt.There’s an almost sacred stillness to the place. The carpet muffles footsteps — a deep, patterned red that has seen countless fortunes lost and won, though

Bianca headed in the direction of the Craps table, determination in her stride. Barry was close behind her, and three of the other wingmen tailed her discreetly.The craps table was alive, a glowing island of green felt under bright overhead lights, surrounded by a semi-circle of players — some casual, others clearly veterans. Chips clacked in eager fingers. The air pulsed with energy, conversation, and the occasional roar of laughter.A sharp-faced stickman, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black vest, leaned forward, his long wooden stick poised like a conductor’s baton. “Coming out!” he called, voice cutting through the hum of the casino floor.At the centre of the action stood the shooter — a woman in a sequined black dress, focused and smiling invitingly. She selected two red dice from a neat row that the stickman had offered moments ago. The rest were swept away by the stick’s graceful swoop. She shook the dice in one hand with a practised flick, then hurled them across the ta

The Delano palatial estate was large, and that was an understatement. Almost a hundred rooms, Beatrice boasted to anyone who cared to listen, which was a bit of an exaggeration, of course!Set at the end of a winding drive lined with ancient oaks, the mansion stood in grand, gentle defiance of time—vast, sprawling, and full of life. Its architecture was an elegant patchwork of eras: a wide front with high-arched windows and ivy-clad stone, wings that had been added over generations, and a warm, terracotta-tiled roof stretching out in all directions like the skirts of a noblewoman settling into her chair.The grounds unfolded endlessly around it—rolling lawns broken by old fountains, sun-drenched courtyards, flowerbeds in glorious disarray, and wide terraces where vines clambered over wrought-iron railings. A hedge maze curled like a secret to one side, and orchards stretched into the distance on the other, the trees heavy with fruit in the summer haze. Stone paths wandered without hur