Semua Bab Betrayed In The Mafia's Bed : Bab 41 - Bab 50

Astrella's point of view For some reason, I awoke feeling surprisingly light, yet I was also burdened by discomfort that I was unable to get rid of. For the conflict. It is Dax. The uncertainty that surrounds everything. No matter what I did, I was at a loss. Nevertheless, I needed to take a shower before I could allow my thoughts to take control of me. Perhaps if I washed away the negative emotions that were sticking to my skin, it would be easier. Even if the warm water did not do much to calm my anxiety, at least it gave me a sense of refreshment. I got out of the room, wrapped myself in a towel, and made my way to the closet that was shared by Dax. I rummaged through my closet and found a sky-blue terno, a loose shirt, and shorts, which are the items of clothing that I typically wear when I am feeling comfortable at home. My fingers were running over the surface of my vanity mirror as I sat in front of it, lost in contemplation. I had been nagging Dax to get it for me, and t

Astrella's point of view I woke up to the sound of my stomach grumbling, my head throbbing with a dull ache. I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. I hadn’t been drinking, and I’d been eating well enough to avoid headaches. Then it hit me. Fvck. I hadn’t eaten real food all day. And now, judging by the dim light filtering through the curtains, night had already fallen. Heat crept up my face as I remembered exactly what I had eaten for breakfast. We had been tangled in each other for hours, his body pressed against mine, his hands claiming me over and over again. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my thighs instinctively pressing together. I could still feel him, his touch lingering on my skin, the ghost of his kisses trailing down my body. But reality struck fast and hard. Dax was probably gathering his men now, preparing for war. And here I was, still sprawled in bed, sore but not broken. I forced myself up, wincing moderately as I moved. The soreness betw

Dax Donomie's point of view “What about Astrella? Where is she?” That question hitched my breath. Instead of looking at them, I forced myself to look somewhere else and swallowed the knot that was forming in my throat. “She’s gone,” I muttered. Silvio frowned. “Gone? What do you mean gone?” Xanthe blinked rapidly, confusion twisting his face. “I made her leave.” My voice was quieter than I intended, but there was no point in taking it back. “Threw her out.” Silvio’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Fabio cursed under his breath. “What the hell, Dax?” “Damn it,” Xanthe hissed, stepping forward, his tone thick with disbelief. “Did you even think before doing that? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for her out there? Especially now?” I exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “She’s better off away from me.” My voice was firmer this time, but the weight in my chest tightened. “If she stays, she’s in more danger than if she runs. At least this wa

Dax Donomie's point of view Soon enough, a pouring rain subsided, and the pungent aroma of gun powder and wet asphalt lingered. The jeep had us securely fastened as we made our way to the old shipyard. Silvio gripped the wheel, his knuckles flexing against the leather, while I sat in the passenger seat, my Glock resting heavy against my thigh. Xanthe and Fabio lounged in the back, looking relaxed—but we all knew better. We were wired as hell, nerves strung tight like a tripwire ready to snap. Silvio, ever the dramatic bastard, decided to cut through the silence. “Guys, if we lose, let my wife know I love her very much.” I turned to him, deadpan. “The fvck? You don’t have a wife.” Fabio didn’t even hesitate. He leaned forward and smacked the back of Silvio’s head hard enough to make him flinch. “You don’t have a fvcking wife, and we are not losing this war, idiot.” Silvio barely reacted, still focused on the road. “Exactly. No wife, no loss. So who’s the idiot now?” Fabio scoffe

Astrella's point of view The powerful Don of the Cosa Nostra in New York City is gone. Or was he? It’s been a week since the battle. A week since the explosions painted the shipyard in fire and blood. And I swear, I saw something. Just before the blast, a glimpse of the enemy, a face barely visible through the smoke. But the world only clings to one truth: Dax Donomie Martinelli is dead. His body? Never found. The story spread like wildfire, burned to ashes, they said. Reduced to nothing. His enemies celebrated, the streets erupted in parties, and every gang that once feared his name raised their glasses to his demise. But something wasn't right. A new ruler had taken the throne. No one knew who. No name, no face, only whispers. But whoever they were, they ruled with savage cruelty. The city spiraled into chaos overnight. Bodies turned up in alleyways, businesses burned, and the underworld trembled beneath the weight of a ghost. A ghost that might be him. But I had my ow