บททั้งหมดของ The Mafia's Boy Toy: บทที่ 211 - บทที่ 220

Lucas’s POV; I walk into Elias’s office with the stack of documents in my hand. I could have sent someone to deliver them, but no. I have to do this. By myself. I’ve tried my best to salvage whatever relationship I hoped to have with him, but now I know that Elias is a mess I can not understand. And if I don’t draw my lines now, someday, he will do something that will hurt me… badly. It’s best I pull away now. And my acceptance now is my first step in doing that. I came to bid farewell in person. He won’t be my brother, so he should just stay a stranger. The door shuts behind me, and the moment Elias looks up, I see excitement in his eyes. Excitement that soon contorts into something else as his eyes take me in properly. His gaze locks onto me, narrowing as it drags over the marks on my skin. Marks I deliberately didn’t make much of an effort to hide. “Lucas…” He greets with a certain stiffness in his voice, but I ignore it. “What the hell is all over you?” He adds, and

Aldo;The sound of the vase shattering reaches my ears before I see its pieces fly and bounce across the room. The sound should have been satisfying. It should have taken the edge off the irritation building in my chest, but it doesn’t.My breathing comes in shallow, rapid bursts, and my jaw locks tighter as I look around the office, at the mess I made.My chair is lying on its side, papers are scattered across the floor regardless of their importance, there's a broken whiskey bottle and glasses on the floor in a corner from when I flung them off the table.My office has never looked like this.I have never allowed it to.Control has always been the one thing I maintained, no matter what happened outside these walls. But right now, control feels like something that has slipped through my fingers without shame or mercy.And I hate it.I grab the crystal orb from the desk and hurl it without thinking. It hits the wall with a dull thud and drops uselessly to the ground, leaving a dent b

Vanessa;Mrs. Lana says the kitchen is the heart of the house. And I think she’s right.It always smells amazing every time she’s here. Today, the kitchen smells sweet… warm and a little bit like butter. I don’t know how to explain it properly, but it feels like the kind of smell that… hugs you.Big, cuddly hugs. The type my mom and David give.I sit on the stool by the counter, swinging my legs back and forth as I watch Mrs. Lana work.She moves like she’s dancing.She’s not too fast, but not slow either. Just… smooth. It’s amazing how she knows exactly where everything is without even looking. It’s like a superpower.I scoot closer when she brings a crate of eggs to the counter, and I smile at her.I wanna help too.“Can I crack the eggs?” I ask, leaning forward, and she pauses as she looks at me. She looks back down at the eggs and smiles.“Of course. But you have to promise to be careful.” She says as she lifts a finger, and I nod seriously.She slides the crate and bowl to me, an

Mrs. Lana;Children have a gift of asking the hardest questions when your hands are busy.Every child I’ve ever known has always been that way.Perhaps it is because their minds are free while their hands are not, or because the rhythm and comfort of familiar spaces make them feel safe enough to wonder out loud.Either way, whenever they ask these questions, dismissing them is never an option. So, now… I have to find a way to answer Vanessa’s very delicate question.Can two men get married?The question in itself is not delicate. The answer is simple. Yes. But for a child like Vanessa… and the upbringing she’s had… I can not answer immediately.Not because I do not know the answer, but because I know better than to rush a child’s understanding. Truth given too quickly can feel like force. And force… never teaches anything lasting.So, I turn back to the counter instead.“Snowflake, come here”, I call gently, picking up a bowl.She hesitates for only a moment before hopping down from

Salvatore;The room hasn’t changed.I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling I spent half my childhood memorising.The same dark wooden beams, the same faint crack near the corner, the same posters I excitedly hung up…It is strange how time can tear apart entire lives and still leave a room untouched.The air smells faintly of dust, polished wood and old books. It's familiar and safe in a way that makes my heart ache.I used to avoid this room. Because it brought back too many memories. The room up here feels like… places preserved inside a glass box while the rest of the world continued moving without them.My gaze drifts to the bookshelf standing against the wall. All the books are old. I never touched or replaced them. Comics I got myself, and novels my mother forced on me, insisting I had to be consistent with reading and writing to grow a sharp mind.I stare at the old spine, and a smile splits my face, despite my vision blurring.I haven’t touched anything in here in years.Ho