All Chapters of I Sold Out a Mafia Boss: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Charles calls me his secret weapon, his golden ticket to taking down the worst criminals this city has to offer. They think he’s a genius, always a step ahead, but they don’t know it’s me who does the dirty work. The music in the car is barely audible over the sounds I’m making. Ricardo’s head is buried between my thighs, with his hands gripping my hips like he owns me, he is eating me out, leaving me gasping for air. My back arches against the seat, with my fingers tangled in his dark hair. I can’t stop the moans spilling from my lips, they were loud and shameless. Up front, the driver is uncomfortable, his eyes are fixed on the road, but when I let out another cry, he fumbles for his earbuds and jams them in, pretending we’re not even here. When the car slows and pulls into the driveway of a five-star hotel, my legs are trembling. Ricardo sits up, straightens his jacket like nothing happened, and steps out of the car. Cool. Composed. Utterly infuriating. I follow, adjusting m

Ricardo’s POVThe next morning, the cell door opens, and I look up to see José, my lawyer, stepping inside. I motion for him to sit across from me at the small table bolted to the floor. The guards step out, giving us privacy, yet we keep our voices low. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “The walls are closing in. Tell me, José. What the fuck am I supposed to do?” José leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Ricardo, listen to me carefully. The only way out of this mess is to redirect the blame. Someone needs to take the fall.” “Redirect the blame? You want me to pin this on my fucking father-in-law? Are you out of your fuckung mind?” José doesn’t flinch at my hushed outburst. He meets my eyes. “Yes. It’s the only move we have. Ricardo, you’re innocent in this, remember? This entire kidnapping and trafficking operation belongs to your father- in- law, Mr. Inzaghi. He’s the one who pulled you into this shitstorm after that deal went wrong and you pissed him off. Thos

Lana’s POVI jog through the quiet streets; with everything going on, I couldn’t get proper sleep. It’s barely 6 a.m. One more day. Just one more day until I move in with Charles again. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—to go back to the feeling of safety, of belonging. Living with him was the closest I’d ever felt to having a family. Feeling loved. And now, after everything, I’ll have that again. The thought makes me smile as I round the corner, but my smile disappears when I notice something strange—a black SUV just right behind me. At first, I thought it’s a coincidence. Maybe someone is heading to work early. But every turn I make, it makes too. I slow my pace, my heart is racing. Are they following me? I decide to test it, taking an abrupt turn down a different street. The SUV hesitates for a split second, then follows. Oh my goodness.I take another route, a shortcut through a smaller road, and glance over my shoulder. The SUV speeds up, cutting me off before I can react. T

Ricardo’s POV Angelo and I step out of the car, both of us are wearing dark sunglasses despite the late hour. The streets are nearly empty. The five-star diner on Fille Royale is discreet—no flashy signs, no unnecessary attention. Just the way we like it. We walk inside, and we smell the scent of expensive cigars and whiskey in the air. The lighting is dim. We slide our sunglasses off at the same time, pocketing them as a waiter leads us to a secluded booth in the back. As soon as we sit down, Angelo exhales, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. “Thank goodness for Jose,” he mutters. “If not for him, we’d probably be rotting in jail by now.” I chuckle, reaching for the glass of red wine already placed on the table. “In all our eighteen years of doing this shit, never for once have we been behind bars. It’s not because of some senator’s daughter that we’d find ourselves in that pig hole.” I smirk, taking a sip. Angelo chuckles along. He leans forward slightly, l

Ricardo’s POV Angelo leans forward. “Mr. Inzaghi, believe us. Your name was heard by all thirty-five girls. When we made calls to you, when some of the men we hired spoke about you—trust me, sir, they heard it.” I study Inzaghi’s expression carefully. The old man is dangerous, more than people give him credit for. He’s seventy-three, but the years haven’t dulled his instincts. He listens to Angelo more than anyone else, which is why I let him do most of the talking. If we have any chance of getting out of this unscathed, it’s through him. Angelo doesn’t hesitate. He knows hesitation is a death sentence in a room like this. “Think about it, sir. Even if it was our plan to implicate you, you have the senator on your payroll. If we had paid him to have his daughter testify against you, don’t you think you would’ve been the first to know?” Inzaghi’s exhales through his nose, and his fingers tap against the table. “Perhaps you could’ve paid him more than I did.” I let out a short