All Chapters of Sold To The Ruthless Mafia Don: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

RUE Bianca is half-asleep by the time I settle her on my hip and start walking again. The hospital lights hum above us, casting long shadows on the tiles. I focus on those shadows because they are easier to look at than the storm inside my chest. I cannot believe it. Alessandro offering me to be a donor for a man like that. A man that has ruined many lives. My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it and keep walking. I am not ready. My heart is still doing that tight trembling thing where one wrong word could make it shatter or explode. Moreover, Alessandro would not understand. He wants what he wants when he wants it. I step outside, into the faint night air, and the cool breeze hits my face. I inhale deeply. It helps. Not enough, but a little. Bianca lifts her head and touches my chin with her tiny hand. “You are safer than all of them,” I whisper to her. “You are the only person here who is not trying to kill my blood pressure.” She coos in a sleepy way and presses her cheek ag

RUEFor a moment, no one speaks.The hallway feels like it is shrinking around me. The air is too thin. My chest is too tight. My heart is beating too loudly inside my ears.Everyone looks scary. I take a step back. What the hell is going on? Could this be some dream or hallucination?Stress causes hallucinations, I know that.Slowly, I look at Alessandro again.“Why,” I ask, “would a man who hates me put me in his will?”It makes absolutely no sense.He closes his eyes. “Rue… that is what I have been trying to tell you.”Angel steps forward as if she wants to catch me if I fall. I move away from her.If anything, she is the last person I want in my life right now.“Talk,” I say.Alessandro swallows hard. His throat moves slowly, like the words taste bitter.“My father did not put you in the will because he liked you. He did it because he wanted to punish someone else.”What?None of this makes sense…I stare at him. “Punish who?”He hesitates.“Punish who?” I ask again, my voice sha

RUEThe street leading to my old apartment feels narrower than I remember. Maybe I’ve grown taller, or maybe the city just got bigger, louder, somehow more intrusive.As I walk down the street, I feel the cramping in my legs. The heaviness in my eyes, and the pain in my neck. Every building looks like it’s leaning toward me, waiting for me to collapse, and give up. A distant train whistles, a siren hums, and the faint smell of burnt bread drifts from somewhere. My chest tightens, and I take a slow breath. I need to think. I need to process everything properly. I need to make the right decision.I stare at the pavement, and with a purse, I consider sitting quietly for a moment.With a sigh, I continue the walk to my house.I pause in front of the rusted gate. The paint is chipped. The latch squeaks as I push it open. The steps are uneven, each one cracking under my weight, and I swear I hear ghosts of old arguments, drunken stumbles, and slammed doors.Nostalgia crawls up my nose, over

RUEThe room feels smaller now. Maybe it is because both of them are here. My father is hunched on one side of the couch, hands clasped, eyes lowered. Alessandro sits beside him, tense, polite, completely unsure what to do with his own body. And I am across from them, heart beating too fast, palms sweaty, wondering how my life got so tangled in one night.Two of the most important, yet complex men in my life are in the same room.None of us speaks at first. The tension is still thick in the air.The old fan in the corner rattles loudly, cutting through the silence. My father clears his throat and stands. “I should give you both some space,” he says quietly.“You do not have to go,” I tell him.He gives me a tired smile. “I know. But you two have something to face. And I am only in the way.”He walks toward the door. Alessandro stands automatically. “Sir,” he says with a respectful nod.My father looks at him for a long moment. “Take care of her,” he murmurs.I take another look at the

RUEThe smell of something warm drifts from the kitchen. I cannot even tell what he is cooking, but it smells soft and somewhat soothing. It doesn't feel extraordinary. It doesn't seem like he's putting on a show or an expensive meal. In fact, I think I can perceive toast.I sit on the couch with my knees tucked under me, watching him move around. He is focused, but he does not look too serious. His hair falls over his forehead sometimes, and he keeps pushing it back. I should not stare but I do anyway.He is a beautiful man. No one can deny it.He glances back at me. “You are staring again.”A gentle smile crawls up my lip, “You are imagining it.”“No, I am not.”I pick up a pillow and hug it. “Fine. Maybe I am staring a little.” I gently chew on the tip of the sides of my bottom lip.“Why?” he asks.“Because you look peaceful and I think it's good.”That makes him pause. He turns fully toward me. “Peaceful?”I swiftly raise both brows, “Yes.”He studies my face, like he wants to und