Sweet Mafia Protector のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Lyra’s POV“I can't occupy everywhere if it’s a joke to you. I’m a bit too slim and tall for that. I don’t have the luxury of blending into tight corners like a mouse or sliding between bars like some rogue in a fairy tale.” I tried to explain myself to Rebekah, who had appeared outside my cell with a glint in her eye that suggested she found all of this a bit too entertaining.She sat down on the stone bench beside me—closer than I expected—like we were longtime friends catching up. Her face hovered near mine, scanning my expression with the curiosity of someone watching a particularly juicy drama unfold. My eyes must’ve told the story already. Stressed. Tired. Worn out like a shirt that had been through too many washes and too many bad days.“You look like someone used you to clean the floor,” she said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. “Your eyeballs are screaming, girl.”I huffed, folding my arms over my bony chest. “Thanks, Rebekah. Nothing like being compared to a rag to brigh

Vincenzo’s POVI stared at Frank for a moment, the tension simmering just beneath my skin. The ballroom's golden chandeliers blurred in the background as if the world had shifted out of focus and left only his words hanging—she likes you.A slow grin cracked my face, disbelief wrestling with hope. I threw my drink—an obnoxiously expensive glass of scotch—over my shoulder. It smashed on the marble floor with a satisfying crack! Heads turned. I didn’t care."FRANK!" I bellowed, flinging my arms open and grabbing him in a crushing bear hug. He smelled like cheap cologne and bad decisions. "You’ve got the best damn view in the house!"Frank coughed. "Vince, I think my spine just cracked.""Shut up and feel appreciated, you sentimental hedgehog!" I released him and stepped back, slapping both hands on his shoulders. "You saw it. You saw it! Lyra looked at me like I was the only man in the room!""I mean," Frank began cautiously, eyes darting toward the shattered remains of my scotch, "she

Marcello’s POVI leaned back in the rusted steel chair, arms crossed over my chest as I watched the woman they dragged into the visitor block—Meerah, they said her name was. She looked like she belonged in some glossy magazine, not here in the Hell Pit. The contrast was almost laughable. Her sleek coat was smeared with gravel dust, one of her heels broken. Her lipstick smeared like blood at the corner of her mouth.Good.She looked like a storm had blown through her, and I knew exactly who that storm was—Lyra.The guards had separated them, but not before the damage had been done. And now, here she was. Sitting in front of me. Breathing hard. Shaking, though she tried to hide it.“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharp and low, laced with a growl that had made stronger men piss themselves.She blinked at me like I’d spoken another language.“I came to see Lyra,” she said, chin tilting up defiantly, though her voice trembled just a little.I slammed my fist on the m

Lyra’s POVRebekah, stop!The words tumbled out before I could stop them. My voice cracked mid-command, somewhere between frustrated and fragile, and I hated that she immediately whipped around like I'd said something dangerous. Her expression twisted—eyebrows scrunching, lips twitching, jaw clenching like she was physically holding herself back from snapping."What, Lyra?" she snapped, exasperated. “The guards will be here any second with the wheelchair because I’m not about to let you waltz out of here with a head wound courtesy of your witchy cousin’s WWE audition. So what is it now?”I flinched at her tone, but I didn’t back down. Couldn’t. The question had been boiling inside me for days. Weeks, maybe. Since the first time she had yanked me out of that pit, since the first time she looked at me like I was someone worth bleeding for.My voice was quieter this time, but no less urgent.“I barely even know things about you, Rebekah. We’ve known each other for what, weeks? A handful

Rebekah POV I swear, if Marcello looked at Lyra one more time like she was the first sunrise he ever saw, I was going to roundhouse kick him in the jaw with these four-inch heels. And I liked these heels. "That went well," I muttered, dragging her down the hall and out of that suffocating excuse of a party. Lyra's hand trembled in mine. "You really think so?" "Oh, no. Absolutely not. That was a dumpster fire dipped in glitter. But it was our dumpster fire, and babe, we set it ablaze in style." I didn't wait for her to respond—I practically threw open the front door and stomped outside like I owned the damn place. The guards blinked at us like they’d never seen two women storm out like they were late for a heist. One of them actually had the audacity to open his mouth, but I shut him down with a glare so sharp it could've sliced concrete. "Not a word," I hissed, grabbing the keys to the Range Rover off the valet stand. "We’re borrowing this. Complain and I’ll set your eyebrows on