Substitute Bride for the Mafia Don のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

AvaI hadn't laid eyes on Riccardo since that night. He had been keeping to himself, slipping into the background as if he was trying to avoid me or maybe just giving me space to sort through everything. I was left wondering what it all meant. Was he feeling guilty? Regretful? Or was it just another way to keep me on edge, letting me simmer in my own anxiety? Regardless, I was relieved not to have to deal with him.Today, the house felt unnaturally quiet, with the silence amplifying every step I took. My heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. I had spent the afternoon with Steph, but the mansion's walls felt suffocating, and I found myself wandering aimlessly. I craved exploration, something to distract me from the heavy expectations and the ever-present shadow of my fiancé.As I turned into another hallway, I spotted someone standing by the window, gazing out at the garden. The soft light streaming through the glass framed his figu

RiccardoThe basement was colder than normal, the air thick with the metallic scent of iron and a sense of dread. I lingered there long after Ava had stormed out, her defiance echoing in my mind like a curse. No one dared to follow her—not the guards who stood frozen against the walls or my siblings. They all waited for me to give the next order, but I stayed silent.What had she done to me?Why am I feeling this way? I shouldn’t. I should hate her. She and her family is the reason the woman I love is dead. I should be exacting my revenge on her and her family.I made my way upstairs and locked myself in the study, brushing off Bento's curious looks and Steph's worried glances. I poured myself a drink, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass as if it held the answers I desperately needed.Her face wouldn’t leave my mind—the fire in her eyes mixed with fear, the sharpness of her words. She was scared, and I wasn’t sure how to process that.Actually, that’s not true. I knew exactly

RiccardoThe wedding was creeping up on us, and with each day that passed, the pressure felt heavier. I caught a glimpse of Ava as she walked by, her face blank and her posture tense. She seemed so uneasy around me now, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her.The last few days had been filled with this thick, uncomfortable silence. I was pretty good at pretending it didn’t bother me, at acting like it didn’t matter that she couldn’t stand me. But inside, there was this nagging guilt I just couldn’t shake off.That night at her parents' place, something went down. Her dad called her into his office, and I saw the color drain from her face as she glanced at her brother, clearly scared. I noticed Richard shoot a fierce look at their dad, almost like he was giving a warning. When Ava returned, it was obvious something was off. She didn’t say a word to any of us, kept her head down, and hugged herself tightly. When her brother wrapped his arms around her, she flinched.Did her dad hurt her? Or

RiccardoThe package showed up right after noon while I was buried in work at my desk, trying to tackle the endless list of tasks piling up. At first, it looked like just another ordinary delivery—nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment I picked it up, a chill ran down my spine, and I sensed something was off.As I tore through the thick wrapping, the sound of the paper crinkling filled the air, and a gnawing feeling of dread settled in my stomach. When I finally revealed the contents, my heart dropped: a severed head rolled out onto my desk. I felt my stomach twist as I struggled to process the horrifying sight. Next to the head lay a thin, blood-stained note. I grabbed it, my eyes scanning the jagged, cruel handwriting."Can you save Ava before it’s too late?"The walls of the room felt like they were closing in on me, and I could feel the color drain from my face as my heart raced. These cowards had the audacity to send me this as if it were a joke.But it was far from a joke.

RiccardoI stood in front of the mirror, gripping the collar of my white dress shirt while I adjusted my cufflinks. Each motion felt intentional and precise. My silk tie was perfectly knotted, as usual, and my dark suit hugged my body just right, tailored to perfection. My broad shoulders filled it out well, the sharp black fabric slicing through the air like a predator on the prowl. The suit was flawless, the white shirt underneath crisp, and the black jacket smooth and polished.My hair was slicked back with just the right amount of gel, dark strands falling into place as they always did, never out of order. The roughness of my jawline was softened by a clean shave I had just done minutes ago. But something felt off. Not today.I wasn’t anxious in the way a man should be on his wedding day. No, I felt something different—distant. Detached. I could sense the weight of the day pressing down on me, but it wasn’t the ceremony that troubled me. It was the reality of the life I was about