All Chapters of Claimed By The Mafia Don: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Lucia’s POVMy chest locked. Like someone had knocked the air from my lungs.I’d left him in the garden minutes ago, and he was okay.Now? He was screaming. Begging. Breaking.It didn’t make sense… none of it did.I stood frozen outside Dante’s gate, my phone dangling in my hand, my mind blank.No. No, no, no.This couldn’t be happening.And then, like the universe was mocking me, the same number flashed across my screen again.UNKNOWN CALLER.I hesitated—just a second too long—before I swiped to answer. “Hello?”A low distorted voice answered. “If you hand that drive to Dante Romano, your father is dead.”My tongue felt thick and useless. Every word got stuck behind my teeth as a cold film of sweat gathered at the back of my neck. “Who is this? What do you want—?”“You have one chance to save him,” the voice snapped. “Bring every copy of the evidence. Alone. No games. No Dante. If you defy us, he dies screaming.”The call ended.My hand dropped to my side, the phone sliding from my f

Dante’s POVI watched Lucia’s face as she begged me to be careful, her voice cracking, her eyes swimming with fear. But I couldn’t look at her for long. Not when everything inside me was boiling, bleeding, breaking.Gabriel Rucci.That fucking name echoed in my skull like a war drum. I had stared at the footage—grainy, but damning. Saw the conversations and receipts. Watched him move like a phantom through the ruins of my past. The bastard had been there the night my parents died. Smiling. Calm. Efficient.He wasn’t just involved.He orchestrated it.And I’d spent my whole life pointing my rage in the wrong direction.“You can’t just go after him like this,” Lucia said, stepping in front of me as I loaded a fresh clip into my pistol. “He still has my father, Dante. If you strike without proper planning—”She reached for me again, and for a split second, I almost let her in, almost let the fury break into something softer.“I don’t care about your father,” I snapped. Her mouth fell ope

Dante’s POVThe sound of the bullet cracking through flesh was sharp and satisfying. Vincenzo’s shoulder jerked back as blood bloomed like a flower across his suit. He dropped to one knee, roaring in pain. His guards panicked, shouting, aiming their rifles. But I didn’t flinch. I fired again. One down. Then another.And then…Click.Empty. Again. I’d counted wrong.Fuck.The next second hit me like lightning. A shot rang out from my left, and heat seared through my shoulder. My whole arm jerked as if someone had plugged it into a live wire. The gun fell from my hand, clattering against the dirt and gravel.I stumbled back, air knocked from my lungs.Everything blurred.Someone shouted my name but I couldn’t tell who. Maybe it was just the ringing in my ears. My knees hit the ground first. Then I reached for the pistol, fingers inches away.But a heavy boot came down hard on my arm.I grunted, pain exploding up my nerves like wildfire.“Not so fast,” a cold voice sneered.Then came the

Dante’s POVMy pulse hammered against the inside of my skull, shoving reason aside. Gabriel’s hand curled tighter around her throat, the blade glinting red against her skin. Blood. Hers. My vision blurred for a second.No.Focus.If I dropped the gun, she’d die. Gabriel didn’t make threats. He made corpses.I could see the dead calm in his eyes. He wasn’t bluffing.“Last chance,” he hissed. “Drop it.”I ignored the demand. My stance remained steady, feet planted, arms up. The Glock weighed heavy in my grip, because now it held more than bullets. It held our lives.But I was watching. Calculating.His left shoulder was slightly forward. He was angled toward me, trying to keep his own body shielded with hers. Smart. Trained. But he wasn’t perfect.His hand had dipped slightly. He wasn’t expecting me to shoot.I only had one shot.One.Any slower, and Lucia’s throat would be carved open. Any faster, and I’d miss.“Okay,” I said, letting my voice crack, just a little. “Okay.”I slowly beg

Dante’s POVThe precinct smelled the same as ever; bleach, burnt coffee, and sweat. The walls hadn’t changed either. Off-white, lined with award plates and tired officers slumped behind their desks. Even the ceiling fan above me creaked in the exact same rhythm, like some damn ghost of the past trying to hum me a warning.I stepped inside slowly, my boots echoing against the scuffed tiles. The detective on the phone had given me no details. Just an address, a name, and a tone I didn’t like.“Mr. Romano,” a voice called from behind a door with frosted glass.I turned, and that’s when I saw him.Detective Emiliano Russo.My breath stilled. The years had added weight to his frame and grayed his beard, but I’d know that face anywhere. He used to sit in our living room every other Friday, drinking espresso with my father like they were brothers-in-arms. Always in uniform. Always watching me like he could already see the criminal I’d become.“Emiliano,” I said, stiffly. “Didn’t know you wer