Todos os capítulos de Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

Mira’s POVThere was a quiet that came after destruction. Not silence—silence was clean. This was something heavier. A stillness filled with things unsaid, with emotions too thick to move through, like smoke lingering after a fire. It clung to everything. Especially Luca.He hadn’t said anything about the night he came back from the penthouse. But something in him had shifted. It was in the way his eyes moved too quickly, in the way his touch hesitated before landing on me. Like he was still somewhere else.I didn’t ask.I watched instead.The morning after, he made coffee without looking at me. The smell was sharp, too bitter. He passed me a mug like it was just another day, and I accepted it like it wasn’t.“Thanks,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.He nodded. Didn’t smile. Didn’t sit.I watched his back as he stood by the window, eyes locked on nothing. His fingers drummed against the glass like he was waiting for something to appear. Maybe Dante. Maybe guilt. Maybe a versi

Luca’s POVThere was a coldness to the air that hadn’t been there before. The kind that seeped into your skin, not from weather, but from something deeper—unspoken, crawling under your nerves like frost.Dante hadn’t spoken to me in days. Not a word. No calls. No sightings. Not even a whisper from the usual channels.I told myself he was pulling back. Retreating. Healing, maybe.But the deeper part of me—the one that knew him best—was screaming.He wasn’t retreating.He was planning.And I was starting to think I was already caught in the web.It started with silence.Then came the patterns.I noticed things first in the details. A street I’d walked every morning for weeks suddenly had a different car parked across it—two days in a row. My favorite café changed staff without notice. Someone had asked for me at an old drop site I hadn’t used in months.Subtle. Almost nothing.But I had learned to read almost nothing like scripture.This was a signal. And I was being watched.By him.I

Luca’s POVI hadn’t slept in two nights.Not really. Just that shallow half-sleep, the kind that coils around your bones and makes you more tired when you wake than before you closed your eyes. The kind of sleep you get when you know someone’s watching you.Because I knew he was.I couldn’t prove it. Not yet. But the signs were there.Passwords resetting themselves. A shadow that passed behind the reflection of a car window. One of the burner phones I’d hidden in a duct vent… gone.Dante wasn’t just watching. He was circling.And he was getting closer.Mira noticed the change in me. She just didn’t say anything.She’d gotten quieter. Slower. Like she was emotionally treading water, and I was the one pulling her under.We were still sleeping in the same bed, still touching, still kissing.But it was starting to feel like habit, not hunger.And underneath it all, there was something else: a flicker of fear in her eyes when she looked at me too long. Not fear of me.Fear for me.Or maybe

Dante’s POVThe night was quiet—too quiet for a city like this.I stood in front of the old window on the top floor of the safehouse, the one no one used anymore. The paint had chipped, the hinges creaked, and the glass had long since cracked. I could see my breath against it, clouding the reflection that stared back at me.I hadn’t planned on coming here tonight. But something pulled me.The kind of pull that doesn’t come from logic. The kind that comes from memory.From pain.From him.I used to think love was a window you could close.Push it down, lock it, board it over. Pretend the light never shined through it in the first place.But standing here now, I realized something terrifying.That window—the one Luca had cracked open in me—had never truly shut.Not even after I’d watched him with Mira. Not even after I’d given the order.The safehouse was cold, the air sharp. My boots echoed through the narrow hallway as I moved toward the room I once used to interrogate traitors. Men w

Dante’s POVThe room was silent but alive—humming with tension and the quiet efficiency of men who had killed before and would kill again.My gloves were already on, black leather tight against my skin. Across the table, the schematics of the abandoned dockyard flickered on the tablet screen, blue light cutting sharp angles across my face. The team stood around me—Vico, Marcello, and Angelo—all men I trusted to follow orders without hesitation, especially when the orders came wrapped in blood.No one said Matteo Santoro’s name. Not out loud. Not here.But it was there—heavy between every breath, behind every command I gave.“Entry point is southwest access,” I said, tapping the tablet. “He’s using the lower-level storage area beneath the cranes—old maintenance tunnels under Dock 7. Heat scan confirms at least three bodies inside. One is him.”Angelo’s brow furrowed. “He’s expecting a move?”“He’s always expected it,” I said coldly. “We gave him five years of silence. He should’ve stay