THE MAFIA CHEF のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Gerrard didn’t summon me the next day, or the day after, or the day after that, and a whole week passed.Each day felt heavier than the last, and I didn’t want to be his whore, God knows I didn’t, but this waiting, this silence, this slow humiliation, it felt like drowning with my eyes open, like he wanted me to rot in my own shame.I was still in the house, but I wasn’t allowed to cook, or clean, or even step into the kitchen, and every time I tried to make myself useful, someone stopped me, one of the staff, one of his men, always polite, but always firm.I wasn’t allowed to be alone for too long either, there was always someone nearby, not obvious, but close enough, watching, like I was a prisoner, or maybe just a dangerous stray, not trusted, not wanted.I started to feel like a ghost in this place, floating, useless, forgotten.Then, one night, my phone lit up.Gerrard:Go to my room. Clean up first. Lay on the bed naked and lock one hand to the headboard. Wait for me.I stared a

The next morning after Gerrard left me spent and silent, I woke up alone again. He was gone, slipping out before I even opened my eyes, like he was afraid I’d ask questions he didn’t want to answer. His scent lingered faintly on the sheets, and somehow that only made me ache more, I missed his body already, missed the closeness even though the night had been rough and cold. But as usual, he started ignoring me again. He would disappear into himself when his feelings tangled too tightly, like a storm he couldn’t control, and rather than face me, he chose silence. I didn’t know what to do with that silence. Should I push harder? Demand answers? Or just give up and let him vanish from my life completely? Every option felt like losing, and I was stuck in the middle, drowning in confusion. Then, late that afternoon, a package arrived just before the hour, a black box wrapped sleekly. My phone buzzed with a message from him. Gerrard: "Wear what I sent, the driver will b

The next morning, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed. My body wasn’t tired from sleep, it was tired of fighting, fighting to exist, to explain, to survive. Everything inside me felt drained, like I’d been bleeding invisible wounds all night. I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the hotel room dead quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning, and even that sounded like static noise in my ears. The ache inside my chest was deeper than heartbreak. It was shame, it was fear, and it was the numbing realization that I had no idea where I belonged anymore. Gerrard didn’t want me, at least that’s what I kept telling myself.I had enough money to pay for another night. The envelope still sat on the nightstand where I dropped it yesterday, untouched. Next to it was the man's business card; Dante Amari. It was clean, minimalist, the kind of card that didn’t need color or graphics to feel powerful. Just his name, his title, and a number that could change my life if

My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t seen him in years, but there he was, stepping out of the SUV like a ghost from a life I thought I’d buried. Sammie. My first love. My almost forever. His hair was shorter now, his suit sharper, his frame more filled out, confident, but those eyes, those kind eyes, hadn’t changed. For a moment, the world tilted. He froze when he saw me too. “Annabelle?” he said again, softer this time, like he didn’t believe what he was seeing. My heart thundered in my chest. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I hadn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t ready. Beside me, I felt Gerrard’s gaze narrow like a blade. “You two know each other?” I blinked, forcing myself to breathe. Then, without thinking, I grabbed Lola’s hand. “We were just... old friends,” I said quickly. “Come on, Lola, let’s go.” I didn’t wait for a reply. My fingers dug into Lola’s palm as we turned away. I could feel Gerrard’s stare scorching my back. But worse than that was S

I met Gerrard the moment I walked in. He was waiting for me in the living room, standing by the window, half-lit by the soft glow of the chandelier. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he hadn’t touched. He didn’t turn when I entered. Didn’t move. Just stood there, like he’d been waiting for hours and couldn’t bring himself to sit. My throat was dry. “I’m back,” I said softly. Silence. Then, his voice, flat and unreadable. “How did it go?” I stepped further into the room, dropped my purse quietly on the side table. “He still thinks I’m being manipulated. That you’re controlling me. He said I’ve been brainwashed… just like Bruno did.” Gerrard didn’t say anything. “He’s wrong,” I added quickly. “I told him, I’m not a prisoner. I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be.” More silence. The air felt like it was tightening around my chest. I stepped closer. “Gerrard,” I said, trying to read him. “Say something.” He finally turned