บททั้งหมดของ The Mafia's Nanny : บทที่ 381 - บทที่ 390

382Rosa’s POVMy wrists ached badly from the right restraints and the sharo bite of metal cuffs dug into my skin as the plane ricked slightly in the air. My mouth was dry, my throat sore from screaming every curse I knew at the smug bastard sitting just a few feet away.He sat across from me, legs spread like he owned the fucking world, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His dark eyes flicked to me every now and then, full of amusement, like he was waiting for me to burn myself out. I stared back at him with nothing but pure hatred.“You’ll wear yourself out, Rosa,” he finally said, swirling his drink lazily. “Might as well get comfortable.”Comfortable?I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You think I’m going to sit back and enjoy the in-flight service, Russo?” I tugged at my cuffs, shifting slightly in my seat to test how much movement I had. “Tell me, do you always kidnap your brides, or am I just special?”He smirked. “You are special, tesoro. That’s why I’m being pati

384Rosa’s POVDante sat across from me, swirling a glass of whiskey between his fingers like this was some kind of civilized conversation instead of a hostage situation.“We’ll be married in a few weeks,” he said casually, as if he were discussing dinner plans and not my entire fucking life.I laughed right in his face.“Over my dead body,” I said, smirking. “Or better yet—over yours.”His lips twitched, but I saw the flicker of irritation in his dark eyes. He was good at hiding his temper, but I had a talent for pulling it out of men like him.Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me like I was something he’d already won. “Rosa, cara mia, you have spirit. I like that.”“Oh, good,” I said sweetly. “Because you’ll be seeing a lot of it when I cut your throat in your sleep.”His chuckle was low and patronizing. “You think I’ll let you anywhere near me with a weapon?”I tilted my head. “I think you underestimate how creative I can be.”Dante exhaled through his nose, setting his glas

386Allesio’s POVThe warehouse smelled like sweat and gunpowder.We had spent the last twenty-four hours gathering intel, tracking down leads, and interrogating every low-level Russo bastard we could get our hands on. And we had nothing.Nothing but my own rage threatening to crack my ribs.I sat on a crate, forearms resting on my knees, while Matteo paced around. Alaric stood by the table, arms crossed and silent as he studied the grainy satellite images of potential Russo hideouts. None of them had Rosa.I exhaled sharply and ran a hand down my face. If we didn’t find something soon, I was going to start ripping through Rio with my bare hands.My phone vibrated against my thigh.I ignored it. Probably another dead-end lead.Then it buzzed again.And again.Frowning, I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.Unknown Number.A chill raced down my spine.I swiped it open and read the message.Rio. Santo Palacio Mansion. Hurry.For a second, my brain didn’t process it. The words blurr

388Allesio’s POVThe bodies of the Russo men were scattered across the compound like discarded trash, their blood staining the marble floors, the once-grand mansion reduced to rubble and smoke. Fire was still burning in what was left of the mansion.It was over.Dante was dead.His men had either surrendered or been wiped out.And Rosa—I turned, my eyes finding her instantly.She was standing near one of the black SUVs, blood splattered on her face, her dress torn and dirty, but her stance was strong. She was breathing hard, her eyes locked on the flames with her shoulders tense like she was still in fight mode.I moved toward her, my steps slow, controlled. “It’s done, Rosa.”Her fingers tightened around the gun still in her grip.I reached out, my hand covering hers. “It’s done.”She exhaled sharply, like she hadn’t fully processed it yet. Then, with a small nod, she finally relaxed, letting me pry the gun from her fingers.I tucked it into my waistband, then pulled her into me. S

390Allesio’s POVThe Russo Don was a sniveling coward.I had seen men grovel before. Seen them bargain, beg, and spit venom when their backs were against the wall. But Dante’s father was the worst kind.A man who had built an Empire on blood and fear but had no stomach for his own suffering.He was bound to a chair in the Castillo estate’s basement, his face already swollen from the interrogation and blood dripped from his split lip, staining his expensive suit.Alaric stood in front of him, expression cold and detached. He had removed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up, the metal of his rings catching the dim light as he flexed his fingers.I leaned against the wall, arms crossed while I watched them.“I’ll ask you one last time,” Alaric said, voice calm. “Where are the last of your men?”Russo coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. “You think—” He sucked in a breath. “You think killing me will erase my family’s legacy?”Alaric sighed. “No, but wiping out the last of your men will.