All Chapters of Becoming The Mafia Queen: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

SOFIAWhen I got back to the estate, I didn't bother saying much to anyone. I went straight to my room and locked the door behind me, then I threw my bag on the chair. My head was buzzing, almost to the point of splitting open, but it wasn't the type of headache you take painkillers for. It was the kind that demanded you sit down and make sense of every stray thought, and piece them together until the picture stared you in the face.I pulled out a notebook from the drawer and sat at my desk. I didn't even bother to change out of my clothes. My pen tapped against the page for a few seconds before I wrote Marco's name in bold letters right at the top. Underneath, I started drawing lines and connecting names, then I started connecting places and all the years of history between him and Adrian. My father's voice lingered somewhere in the back of my mind, reminding me that every man had a weakness, but not all weaknesses were obvious.Tony had sent me an entire file about the rivalry betwe

SOFIAI sat hunched over the spread of files on my desk, with a mountain of papers and photographs scattered all around me. Adrian had given them to me earlier with that clipped tone of his, telling me to ‘make sense of them’. It was an enormous task, but I suspected that he didn’t trust anyone else with them, which was why he asked me. Halfway through my combing, I realized that Marco wasn’t planning an attack on the bridge. The bridge itself was what he planned to destroy, and not a coordinated attack that would kill hundreds of people all over. My stomach sank as I traced the scribbled outlines on a crumpled map, with a few circled coordinates and the half legible orders written in someone’s careless handwriting. I couldn’t believe the audacity of Marco Giordano. He wanted to blow up the whole fucking bridge, effectively cutting off Brooklyn from the rest of the city. And knowing him, I suspected that he also had something else in mind that we hadn’t het figured out. After all, h

SOFIAThe morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of my room, pulling me out of a restless sleep. My head was throbbing faintly from last night's wine, and from Rafe's unwelcome visit. I groaned, rolling over to check the clock and saw that it was 9am. Adrian had sent me a text ten minutes ago, saying he had to leave for an urgent meeting, and I frowned as I read the text. He could have at least come to my room and told me personally instead of just running off. I thought about sending him a text just to be petty, but I figured he was probably having a very important meeting coming up, and he didn’t need any unnecessary pettiness from me. As I rolled out of bed, my head felt like it was going to crack open. I bit my tongue and cursed aloud, then stood up and dragged my ass to the bathroom. There I splashed some water onto my face, and then I sat in the bathtub and groaned until I found the strength to go back to my room. I popped a few Aspirins in, and shortly after my hea

SOFIAThe kitchen smelled like a warm picnic about thirty minutes since I started cooking, with the tomato sauce simmering on the stove, some fresh basil torn and thrown into the pot, and garlic sizzling in olive oil. I stirred the sauce slowly, the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the pan, while I wondered how Adrian would feel when he came back and found out that I’d cooked for him. Melissa had let it slip earlier that his favorite dish was his grandma’s lasagna, like the creamy kind with layers of rich meat sauce, and cheese that melted into every bite. She said she hadn’t made it in a while, so I'd spent the morning tracking down every ingredient. I wanted to surprise him, and to see that beautiful smile he always saved for moments when it was just us. After last night with Rafe and this morning's disaster at the gun range, I needed something to make me smile again, and not feel like I wanted to blow my own brains out. I layered the pasta sheets in the dish, and my hands were

SOFIAThe smell of espresso and fresh croissants filled the dining room, with a rare morning calm in the DeLuca estate. I sat across from Adrian, my fork picking at a plate of scrambled eggs while he sipped his coffee, his dark eyes scanning a tablet with flight details for Rome. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and glinted off the table, and for a moment it felt like we were just a normal couple having breakfast. But the weight of yesterday, with the feds raiding the estate and then Rafe's accusations, all hung over me like a storm cloud. But I pushed it down, focusing instead on the warmth of Adrian's presence, and the way his rolled-up sleeves showed off his forearms, strong and veined and making me want to jump onto his lap, and kiss him senseless while my fingers explored his bare chest. Sometimes, it felt like he had some sort of spell over me. That could only be the logical explanation, because why on earth did a simple look turn me on so much? Why did it feel like