All Chapters of The Mafia's Kidnapped Bride: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Aryn“What the fuck did you just say?” The words tore out of me before I even realized I’d moved. My hands slammed against the edge of the table, the sound sharp enough to echo through the room. “What the hell do you mean my parents killed Lorenzo’s parents?”Micardo didn’t flinch. He just lifted a napkin, dabbed the corner of his mouth, and gestured to the chair across from him like I hadn’t just snapped.“Sit,” he said quietly, voice smooth like oil. “It’s a long story.”“I’m not sitting until you explain what the fuck you mean.”He gave me a look, the kind that said he’d dealt with loud, defiant people before and it bored him more than anything. “You will sit,” he repeated, tone heavier this time, colder. “Or I’ll have the guards make you.”I hesitated. My pulse pounded in my temples, hot and fast, but the two guards by the door hadn’t moved an inch, and somehow that made it worse. They didn’t need to move. They knew I’d fold.So I sat. Slowly. My spine stiff as iron, my fingers cu

LorenzoThe message came through at 7:04 a.m.Just seven words.> Lorenzo, I’m leaving. I want a divorce.I stared at the screen, rereading it over and over, waiting for it to change, waiting for the punchline, for her to call me “cara mia” after the cruel joke. But it didn’t come. The words stayed there, cold, simple, final.For a second, I couldn’t even breathe. Then I felt a slow burn starting deep in my chest, spreading like wildfire until my veins were fire and my pulse was a roar.No. No fucking way.Aryn wouldn’t just leave. Not without a reason. Not without facing me.“Where is she?” I snapped, standing so abruptly my chair slammed backward into the marble floor. The men in the room froze. None of them dared to speak.“Boss?” Enzo’s voice was cautious. “We...uh...we lost visual after she left the Micardos’ compound last night.”“What do you mean, lost visual?”His eyes flickered nervously. “She… walked out. Alone. Mr. Micardo’s men didn’t stop her. She got into a cab.”My fist

ArynI decided that enough was enough. Sitting around, crying, and feeling sorry for ourselves wasn’t going to fix a damn thing.After breakfast, Lily started cleaning up, humming softly again like she hadn’t just cried her eyes out a few minutes ago. She was trying to act normal, pretending everything was fine. But I knew that kind of pretending, it’s the same one I used to do every morning before walking into the DeLucas’ mansion, pretending I wasn’t falling apart inside.So I leaned against the counter, crossed my arms, and said, “You know what? We’re not staying in today.”Lily blinked at me. “What?”“I mean it,” I said, grabbing my cup and finishing the cold coffee. “If we keep moping around, we’ll end up crying into our pillows again tonight. Let’s go out. Do something stupid. Something fun. Something we’ve always wanted to do.”Her brows furrowed, confusion and worry written all over her face. “With which money, Aryn? Last I checked, our account was emptier than your dating lif

ArynFor the next few weeks, the apartment was quiet, too damn quiet. Lily wasn’t herself. She floated around the place like a ghost wearing her own skin, eyes hollow, voice barely there. She’d go through the motions, shower, dress, pick at her food, but it was all on autopilot. At night, I’d lie there pretending not to hear her. Pretending not to hear the soft, shaky sobs muffled by her pillow. Because if I heard them, really heard them, I’d have to face what the fuck had happened, and neither of us was ready for that.Some nights, I wanted to shake her. To tell her to scream, to curse, to hit something. Anything. But she didn’t. She just curled into herself, smaller every day. And when the fridge light came on in the middle of the night, I knew it wasn’t because she was hungry, it was because she was staring blankly at food she couldn’t force herself to eat.I’d stand at the doorway, watch her, and think, Antonio, you fucking bastard.I was seriously considering killing that son of

LorenzoThe next three months were a fucking blur, painted in shades of piss-poor lighting and cheap whiskey. Everything that wasn’t Aryn was a background noise I couldn't be bothered to mute. My apartment, which had felt like home when she was in it, turned into a gilded cage. I didn’t care about the family business. I didn't care about the money, the power, or the damned reputation I'd spent my life building.All I cared about was the silence where her laugh used to be.I kept a death grip on my phone, the screen a monument to my own pathetic weakness. A thousand messages, typed out, deleted, retyped: Where the hell are you? I hate you. I love you. Come home. You owe me an explanation. But I didn't send a single one. Because what the fuck was the point? She chose to leave. Sending texts just meant I was begging. And I don’t beg.I drank until my throat burned and my brain felt slow. And when I wasn't drinking, I was lashing out. Anyone who came near got the sharp end of my misery. I