บททั้งหมดของ Arranged To The Bravta King: บทที่ 161 - บทที่ 170

MikhailThe crack of gunfire reverberates off the walls of an abandoned mall, drowning out the frantic shouting inside. Shattered glass and debris litter the floor as men stomp through storefronts with bare shelves. Flashes of gunfire light up the darkness, casting eerie shadows on graffiti-covered walls. A blast punctuates the panicked screams of those caught in the crossfire.On an upper level, I stand beside Zakhar, watching as my trustworthy men, fueled by the Lanzzare's additional firepower, carry out our war against Gunsyn with ruthless efficiency. The scene is frenzied yet calculated among the mildewed building debris. Calmly, I watch a clash of destruction orchestrated by an expert plan.Tense, I observe from a distance like a general not allowed to race into the fray. I clutch my hands around night-vision binoculars and force my feet to stay planted where they are. Apparently, Gunsyn has also chosen to stay out of the line of fire. But if I see him, I will run into the madnes

MariaAs I crouch behind the tapestry, I listen intently for any signs of movement. The sound of footsteps comes nearer, and I hold my breath, praying they'll keep going. For a moment, it seems like they have, but then I hear a low chuckle.The voice says something in Russian, taunting me as its owner searches. My heart leaps to my throat. Bitter fear fills my mouth as my breath quickens.Panic won't save me, only action. As I prepare to face whatever is out there, I hear a single gunshot and then a voice. "Ublyudki!" Natasha sneers before I hear her footsteps run away. I slip out from behind the tapestry and tiptoe down the corridor, searching for her.The back door is wide open, and she must have headed for the range. I run full speed toward the low, squat building, ignoring the cold on the soles of my feet. The door is open, and I get on the ground, crawling, alert to any movement. As I approach the stalls, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoing. I hold my breath and for

MikhailI return to the Lanzzare mansion, unsure of the reception I'll receive. Christian Genovesi looked delighted to get rid of me the last time I was here. A bodyguard opens the door and immediately steps aside to let me in. At least the truce is still intact after all these weeks. Waiting in the hall, I look around the mansion, opulent but impersonal. A show of wealth without any personality. It feels cold and sterile, like a showroom rather than a lived-in home.The bodyguard shows me into the living room, and I look even closer. The furniture is sleek and modern, with no signs of wear or use. It almost feels more like a luxurious film set than a lived-in space. I keep displays of my personal life hidden, as anyone in my position would. But this is different.Christian enters the room, increasing the atmosphere of pretentiousness and artificiality."Mikhail," he grasps my hand before sitting across from me. "What brings you back? Is there something else we can help you with?""Ye

MariaFrom an empty bedroom, I watch Mikhail being taken away. The red backlights become smaller and smaller as I press my forehead against the cold glass. My mind races with scenarios as I struggle to accept what has happened.Deep down, I know leaving wasn't Mikhail's decision. He would never willingly abandon me like this.I race down the stairs toward the front door as if I'm not too late. I reach out for the doorknob, and two scowling guards pull me away. I fight against them, shouting that they better let me go. It's not fair. I'm doing what's expected of me to become a pakhan's wife.Sorokin steps out of the dining room to investigate the shrieking commotion. His gun is drawn, but he quickly slips it under his jacket when he sees it's only me. What was he thinking? What was he planning to do to Mikhail?I elbow a guard, breaking out of his tight grip, and hurry toward Sorokin."Please," I beg him, "just let me see Mikhail one more time." I point at the door. "Before he reaches

MikhailThe penthouse is a mausoleum of her memories, taunting me wherever I look. I stare at the spiral staircase, waiting for Maria to come down. I wait, hoping I'm wrong, but I know she'll never appear. I wander aimlessly up the stairs into her old bedroom, and my gaze falls on the Kuzma Fedorov painting I gave her. I remember that day and how proud Maria was to tell me it was hanging upside down.I, the art expert, was being schooled by a woman who had only seen art in books.But Maria spotted the hidden image of the face in the brushstrokes so clearly. The same way she spotted the light imprints in my father's journals. The same way that she still spotted a glimpse of the man I could have been.I close my eyes, dreaming that when I open them, she'll still be next to me. But I turn and the fantasy gives way to harsh reality.Many of the paintings I owned were destroyed during the attack. And I haven't stepped into my office since she left. I haven't touched a pencil, a pen, or a b