All Chapters of Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance : Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Outside the penthouse windows, the city sparkled, the skyscrapers reaching out into the night like broken glass but Harrison's inside wasn't.He sat in his dining room, opposite his dining table, the glass of whiskey before him still full, its ice now watered down, Leya's letter was lying open on the table next to it, crumpled and frayed from how many times he'd read it. Pretty script, but words that cut sharper than any sword.He read the letter each evening since therapy. Each evening, he spat her name into the night. And each evening, the same vow resonated in his chest: I will find you.The Blackwoods tried to bring him back home. Samuel's great booming voice filled message after message, beckoning Harrison home. Vivian ranted in messages, holding him responsible for what Nathaniel had done. Eleanor begged, first with anger, then with desperation.Harrison did not pick up their calls.He fled their existence. No mafia parties, no events, no being Samuel's obedient heir. He let the

Night was finally hers.Where the city exhausted itself on broken light and yowling horn, where Ava had a thumb stuck in her cheekbone, where Shayla and Anna slept during nap time against the paper wall between them — there did Leya call.Her workspace was a battlefield of doodle paper splattered with rejected scribbles and coffee splatters. The used desk lamp cast its golden glow on her, shadowing her face. Her five-months-so-pregnant belly bulged over the edge of the desk, folded in like the baby inside, turned over, and suspended in mid-air for the moment.And she wrote.Her fists curled forward unwittingly as she flipped the keyboard open. Sentences flowed out of her — unfenced, raw, uncensored.She wrote of a woman who loved an ice man.A woman who gave him her laughter, loyalty, and womb.And he paid her off with gold necklaces for it.She never used his name. She was never argumentative or chatty.But her readers never knew the truth.They knew she wrote about them.Others of t

The day dragged on, the storm battering the city like a fist Finally, when the office had cleared, deafening crashes rumbled far out along the sweep of the horizon, rain hitting higher windows of the publishing house.Leya sat at the back of the desk, fingers dashing across the finished manuscript. Belly was rigid and unyielding under loose clothing, curved rigidity, promise of an unborn child. Sometimes, when the baby stirred, she'd lay her hand there and softly coo — sounds that no one ever heard.Silence was comfort, and she was tired.Until stealthy feet shattered the silence.---"Still writing?"She looked up to find James standing in the doorway of her office, coat thrown over the hump of one shoulder, tie loose. Stormlight darkened and churned around him, his face closed."Oh," she panted. "Just going over these notes."He simply stood there for a second, looking at her, his eyes going through her straight shoulders, the curve of outlay of her hands on the page. He came over t

Time is odd the way it kills and cures simultaneously. Two years had passed since Leya Weiss vanished from the Blackwood mansion as a specter dissolved in the cracks of destiny. Two years since she fled leaving behind the man who had broken her, with nothing but a trunk, her unborn child, and a shattered heart. Two years henceforth worlds were reborn. The city was rebuilt, as well. Seasons went by. Summer showers became winter snows. The streetlight glow on other faces, other lives, dwindled to one harsh, holy truth: survival. Survival reformed her. She held them in her arms for the first time that day — two small, awkward lives with eyes burning as harshly as the breaking day's — Leya knew she would never have her life. Boy and girl, twins, both swaddled up in puffy warm hospital blankets and attracted to her own shivering, low-temperatured breast. She named the boy Leon and the girl Aurora. Leon — lion-hearted, the words that had held in them her obstinacy, her courage, her n

Rain yet to fall stuck to its wet-ash face. Leya wrapped around her coat, pulling the twins down the crowded street, one small hand in each.Leon gasped while he chattered a blue streak of talk about toy automobiles he had seen in the window of the shop. Aurora plodded on, humming a miniature tuneless tune, skipping every other step, curls bouncing.It was normal. It was magic.Leya had arranged things so that her life would continue like this forever — alone, unencumbered, secure.Destiny otherwise.---Harrison had just emerged from the office of his psychologist a block from where he resided. He did not drive by car but on foot. It was nearby.Two years of torture-filled sessions had seeped the life out of him and re-shaped him into a gorgon barely recognizable. His sadism was dulled now but not the welts. He had learned his devils — treachery of Maya, cruelty of father, cruelty — and forgiven, inch by throbbing inch, screaming, the boy he used to be.Forgiveness had not filled the