Semua Bab Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession: Bab 121 - Bab 130

GIOVANNI'S POVThe expensive silk of my all-black suit felt like a second skin, a testament to the power I was about to claim. In the mirror, my reflection stared back, a man on the precipice of everything he had ever strived for. The color was a deliberate choice for my wedding to Juliana, not just a preference, but a statement. Black symbolized control, an unspoken assertion of my dominance in this world, in this family, in this new union. My jaw was set. My gaze, sharp and unwavering. This day was a culmination, a victory.A rap on the door, then it swung open without waiting for my permission. Anastasia, my sister, stood framed in the doorway, her eyes like chips of ice. She wore a dress the color of twilight, a stark contrast to the celebratory white of the occasion, and her presence dimmed the already filtered light in the room."Brother, go down when you're ready," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "Let's get

GIOVANNI'S POVThe opulent chapel, usually a sanctuary of hushed reverence, now buzzed with a chaotic symphony of screams and the guttural roars of men fighting for their lives. The stained-glass windows, meant to cast a divine glow upon the union of two powerful families, now refracted the crimson light of spilled blood. My black suit, once a symbol of my ascension, was now spattered with the same grim hue. I moved through the carnage, a phantom of wrath, my every step a decree of annihilation.The Conti clan. They had dared. They had plotted. They had deceived. And now, they would pay.Giuliana. The name tasted like bile in my mouth. Her twin sister. The real Juliana, dead in a foolish embrace with a lover, her life extinguished in a reckless flight. And this imposter, this Giuliana, had been the willing pawn in a scheme devised by Igor, my own blood, to usurp my claim. The betrayal was a wound that bled into the rage, fueling it, sharpening it. Igor, my own brother, who had shared

GIOVANNI'S POVThe next few days passed in a blur of calculated chaos and brutal efficiency. The media, controlled by carefully placed assets, spun a narrative of a gang war, conveniently omitting my direct involvement, but painting a grim picture of the Conti clan's utter demise. No one dared to mourn them. No one dared to question the sudden power vacuum that screamed my name. The message was clear: Giovanni Sokolov was not to be trifled with. The underworld, a beast that fed on fear and respect, now trembled at my shadow. My procurement as the Pakhan of the country's underworld wasn't just inevitable; it was a foregone conclusion. The elders, those old wolves who had watched generations rise and fall, sent their tacit approvals, their silence louder than any declaration.My father, Viktor, however, was not so easily swayed into silent acquiescence. He found me in my study, the scent of expensive cigar smoke and old leather filling the air. His face was a thundercloud, eyes narrow

GIOVANNI'S POVThe echoing silence of the main hall, once filled with the buzz of the elders’ approval, seemed sharper than any gunfire. I didn't watch them actually leave; I didn't need to. I felt the heat of Vlad Kuznetsov's smug, triumphant victory radiating from Tristan’s back—my Tristan’s back—as he escorted his supposed bride.The audacity. The sheer, sickening, impossible reality.Tristan. Alive.My feet moved on instinct, carrying me away from the humiliating scene of my own impending downfall, back to the sterile coldness of my private office. I slammed the heavy oak door shut, the sound a pathetic crack against the deafening roar building in my chest.Tristan.I grabbed the nearest object... a heavy crystal decanter, half-full of premium scotch, and hurled it across the room. It exploded against the wall, showering the antique Persian rug with shards and amber liquid.Vlad’s ploy. It was brilliant, sickeningly so. He produced a ghost, a perfect weapon, and positioned him as

GIOVANNI'S POVThe stench of roses and fresh blood was cloying, almost sickening, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins burned it away. Finally. The word resonated in my mind, a deep, resonant bell tolling the end of a long, tortuous wait. Tristan was mine again.I had watched him from the shadows, a ghost in my own life, for too long. Watched him laugh, watched him live, watched him almost marry another. It had been an exquisite torture, a slow-burning fire that had threatened to consume me entirely. But now, it is over.Two strides, that’s all it took. The distance between us, between the past and the devastating present, vanished. My hand shot out, not gently, but with the force of a man reclaiming what was stolen. His expensive suit collar bunched in my fist, the silk a stark contrast to the rough marble beneath Eva’s still form. Her death was a regrettable necessity, a domino in a sequence I had been forced to set in motion. Vlad Kuznetsov's foolishness, his stubbornness –