บททั้งหมดของ Arranged To The Bravta King: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

MariaDominika descends the spiral staircase, holding a silver tray filled with breakfast food—French toast, strawberries, yogurt parfait, scrambled eggs, and bacon. But nothing is touched."She's not eating?" I ask, staring at the heavy tray.Dominika's expression betrays not a single emotion. "She says she doesn't want it."I pick up the bowl of strawberries and yogurt parfait and make my way up the stairs. "She has to eat something."A corner of Dominika's lips twitches ever so slightly as she calls out after me, "Wielding authority may seem easy at first, koshka, but using it is hard—especially when you realize there are consequences for every action you take."The Kuzma Fedorov painting, stacks of art books, and plush high-end furniture clash in a conflicting environment—one with tension and luxury intertwined as I enter my old room. Dressed in my jeans, Mercy sits in a chair by the window, her face set inan expression of anger and hurt. Her hostile glare overpowers the room's la

MariaThe relaxed, jovial feel of the place is absent tonight, and I scan the room for trouble, spotting Vito Genovesi and Luigi Bianchi sitting at a table far away from the bar.Pavel approaches the bar and nods to the bulky bald man behind it. Vince, I think that's his name. They size each other up with a glance and then nod that they understand each other. They won't give grief unless they get it. Pavel sits at the bar as Vince slowly wipes water spots off a clean glass and pours him a beer from the tap."Showtime," I say under my breath, guiding Maria toward the table."Ivanov," Vito greets with an insincere smile. "And Maria, dear, thank you for bringing him along."Bianchi's gaze lingers on me with a hint of disdain as Vito gives Maria a quick peck on the cheek."Genovesi," I extend my hand to him, but not Bianchi, and we shake. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."Vito nods to the empty seats across from him and Bianchi. He waits until we've settled and gestures to Vince,

MikhailThe elevator doors open, and we arrive back at the penthouse intact. Not what I expected from meeting with a Lanzzare, but life has been unpredictable since Maria arrived. We step off the elevator, holding hands, ready to spend time alone in our bedroom after the uneasy meeting. But our delusion of a peaceful home ends quickly as Mercy's muffled shouts pierce through the door of a staff closet, a string of shouted obscenities that would make a sailor blush.Pavel sits in a folding chair, blocking the door, and his stern gaze focuses on me. "She tried to make off with your laptop, but I caught her," he explains. "This one is good with locks."Maria's gaze flicks to the closet, then back to me. Her expression is unreadable, but she doesn't object, silently agreeing with Pavel's actions. The wheels turn in her head as she processes everything that has happened—her thoughts challenge what she thinks is right and wrong."Ask Dominika to take her back to her room," she says, and I n

MariaDoubt slows my feet as the wide door creaks open, revealing the house that used to be my home. The dull wooden floor in the hall groans under our footsteps as Mikhail and I venture into the empty house. Several corners of the floral wallpaper peel from the wall, and cobwebs float above our heads just out of reach. This place is a shell of what it used to be as hints of a happier past materialize."It looks like no one's been inside for years," I say quietly.Faded pictures hang on the walls, and my heart clenches in my chest as I stop to look at my family frozen in the frames.Mikhail grabs hold of my arm. "Maria, you don't have to do this."Gently, I take his hand away. "I'm okay now." I straighten my spine. "I want to see it, Mikhail. I need to know, even if it guts me." I pick up a dusty photo frame from a small hall table.My fingers trace the outlines of the smiling faces in the picture—my parents embracing each other, their love forever on display. I've never seen a photo

MikhailThe morning passes as I sit at my desk, scrutinizing the pages of my father's journals, searching for secrets hidden between lines of text about deals and threats. "Dammit," I mutter under my breath. I keep returning to the journal with the missing pages, as if they'll reappear. My fingertips run over the torn edges as my frustration grows out of control. I push away from the desk and pace the floor again.Two weeks before Desmier's death, Gennady notes a brief disagreement between himself and Zakhar. That's not a big deal, but the name mentioned is—Raymond D'Artello. A member of the Lanzzare, he was picked to be my first kill.10 a.m.—Zakhar opposes target choice. He insists it's not the right move.Was there a reason for Zakhar disagreeing with my father? I thumb through the pages again, hoping something will make sense. Maybe a written line will leap out at me from a page I've stared at before. If Zakhar was against killing D'Artello, then there had to be a reason. Was he a