Lahat ng Kabanata ng What The Don Wants: Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

Dante~The long dining table gleamed under the warm, dim lighting. Polished wood, silverware laid out with military precision, and plates of roasted duck, garlic potatoes, and aged wine that none of us had touched more than once.I sat at the head, Isla to my right, Miguel at my left. Across from us, Roberto leaned back in his chair like he belonged there. Like this table had been carved for him. His men sat beside him; quiet, alert, clearly trained not to speak unless spoken to.It should have felt like a war table. But oddly, it didn't. The tension was there, yes. But it was thinned now, stretched out like a string between us. Less likely to snap, more likely to hum.He sliced his meat with care, eyes on me the entire time. "You're quiet, Moretti," he said finally, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Is it the food? Or the company?""I don't eat well when I don't know the full menu," I replied flatly.It was a message; one he seemed to get instantly.Roberto gave a short laugh.

A/N: Trying out this third person style of writing again, so please let me know what you feel about it in the comments.]The city passed in a blur.Cars honked, neon lights flickered in reds and yellows. Pedestrians crossed streets without waiting for signals. But Isla barely registered any of it as she sat stiffly in the back seat of the sedan, her fingers clenching the hem of her jacket in her lap.She had insisted on taking no bodyguards, going againstDante's directive. However, she was also convinced that it would bring less attention that way. There would be no black-clad stalker flanking her every move, no furious crowd rushing at her...and no paparazzi. But she wasn't naive. She knew the danger. The people still hated Dante, and by extension, they hated her.The driver's voice snapped her out of her thoughts."Everything alright, Madame?"Isla blinked, caught off guard by the question. She hadn't expected him to speak, much less notice her mood. She forced a tight-lipped smile

Isla ~The night stretched longer than I had initially imagined.Santiago pulled Dante from one circle to the other as they indulged in various discussions that were of little to no interest to me.A couple of formal introductions here and there, forced pleasantries and smiles that I only seemed to be getting better at.Dante however looked like he was genuinely having a great time. And watching him was like a parent watching their child interact with other children of the same age. It was really...something, even though my feet were killing me in these heels.And I was already feeling the need to visit the bathroom yet again...for the umpteenth time.Another waiter offered me some glasses of champagne and before I could even get a chance to decline, Dante reached out to take a glass.I arched an eyebrow at him but alas! He couldn't see it due to the silly mask on my face. He however seemed to understand my look, letting off a shrugged."What? I'm drinking for both of you." He said,

[A/N: Hello beautiful readers! Just in case you haven't noticed, this book is slowly coming to an end as I have other works to commence. I however would like to use this opportunity to appreciate all my loyal readers, who followed this story from the very beginning till this point. Really, I appreciate y'all. You've made this writing journey a really wonderful one for me.]Isla~The cuffs bit into my wrists again as I shifted in the chair, a defiant glint in my eyes as I stared down the bastard seated across from me.Jake. Smug, composed, legs crossed like this was just a friendly reunion. And behind him, like some deranged scarecrow, stood the woman from earlier; Veronica. Her arms were folded, but her stance screamed readiness. Like if I so much as blinked wrong, she would put a bullet in me.I yanked at the cuffs once more, metal scraping metal. "You're wasting your time." I spat, my voice sharp with loathing. "Dante's not coming. You are delusional if you think he would ever

Isla~I stood frozen in front of the door. The door to Dante's bedroom. Our bedroom.My fingers hovered just above the knob, trembling as though the metal itself would burn me. I hated this feeling. I hated being afraid and uncertain. And yet, I couldn't deny it; fear was exactly what curled tightly in my chest right now.Dante was alive.After a week and two days in the ICU, after flatlining twice, after so much bloodloss and chaos, I had watched him slip away before my eyes. I had screamed until my throat gave out. Cried until my body trembled with exhaustion. Held his hand even after he stopped squeezing back.But he made it.He was back, breathing. He was awake. Alive.He had pulled through for both me and our child. And naturally, I should be as happy as I should be grateful.But why did walking through this door feel so hard? Why did it feel so heavy in my chest I closed my eyes. The memory of that night flooded me like a tidal wave.The way the bullets had ripped through the a