All Chapters of Sold To The Mafia Lord: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

The room was dark.Too dark. Too quiet. Too… empty.Emilia woke in the dead of night, the moonlight spilling through the curtains and cutting thin silver lines across the bed. Her body shifted, the sheets cool against her skin. She reached instinctively, half expecting the warmth of Lucien’s body beside her. But the space was empty.Her chest tightened. His scent was gone, leaving only the faint traces of her own perfume and the subtle lingering of smoke and iron from the day’s battles.She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feet meeting the cold marble floor. The house was eerily silent, yet the faint hum of electricity and distant machines reminded her it was far from abandoned.Something in her stirred, a restless unease she could not ignore. Lucien had not returned. Not even a shadow crossing the threshold.Her footsteps were soft, cautious, as she moved into the hallway. She expected it to be empty. She expected a silence that would swallow her. But the mansion was not silen

The hallway felt colder the deeper she walked into it.Emilia’s footsteps were slow, steady, deliberate. Every inch of her body felt heavy, from exhaustion, from heartbreak, from the knife twist of Lucien’s silence.But her mind was sharp.Her father was here.In Lucien’s house.Under Lucien’s roof.Breathing the air of safety she had bled to claim.A monster sitting comfortably in a cage that still felt too close.The moment she reached the guarded door, both men straightened instantly. They were tense, alert, and visibly uncomfortable.“Signora Emilia,” one said cautiously. “Boss instructed..."“I’m not asking what Lucien instructed,” she cut in, voice cold enough to frost the handle. “Open the door.”The guards exchanged uneasy glances. She didn’t blink. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t repeat herself.Something in her eyes, rage, pain, exhaustion, or all three, made one of them swallow and unlock the door.The hinges groaned softly as she pushed it open and stepped inside.The room wa

The house was too quiet.Too tight. Too full of unspoken things.By the time Lucien’s men returned to the estate, the sun had barely risen, and the hallway outside his study was lined with guards who all looked as though they were bracing for impact.Inside, Lucien Moretti stood unmoving behind his desk, hands braced on the surface, his shoulders tense and his jaw set in that rigid, dangerous stillness that came only when he was holding himself together by a thin, shaking thread.He hadn’t slept.He barely breathed.His wound throbbed beneath the bandage, warm and wet, but he ignored it completely.He was thinking of Julio.Julio’s laugh.Julio’s stupid jokes.Julio’s fierce loyalty.Julio’s blood on his hands.And the last thing Julio ever said to him. "… protect her.”Her. Kira.Julio’s girl.The only woman Julio ever softened for. The one he spoke of like she was light in a world full of shadows.Lucien had made him a promise. And Lucien kept his promises.He always kept his promise

Lucien hadn’t set foot inside their room since that day Emilia came to his study. He told himself it was because he had work to do, orders to give, men to send out in every direction. But every time he passed the corridor that led to their door, something inside his chest tightened and refused to let him go further. Guilt? No. He refused to call it that. Anger, yes. Betrayal, absolutely. But guilt? He wouldn’t allow it to exist.Rosa had informed him quietly in the afternoon, “Emilia hasn’t come out, sir.”He knows she is kind of hoping that would made him go to her. But the old woman knows nothing.He only nodded. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t ask how she was. He didn’t ask anything at all.Because asking would mean he still cared, and caring felt like weakness he couldn’t afford right now.Food trays were delivered to Emilia’s room twice a day. He saw them sometimes, untouched when Rosa carried them back to the kitchen. Other times, half eaten. Once, he saw a tray returned completely

The study door clicked shut behind him. Instantly, the room went still. Every man froze mid step. Shoulders snapped straight, breaths hitched, eyes fixed on Lucien like the air itself had solidified. His presence alone bent the space into order, and they knew it, instinctively, deeply.Lucien’s gaze swept the room. Soldiers, lieutenants, and advisors, all of them tense, wary, their eyes betraying the echo of the courtyard, the image of Matteo crumpled and finished beneath Lucien’s blade. The lesson had been delivered; the warning had been made.He moved with precision toward his desk, each step deliberate, measured. His bandages peeked beneath his open shirt, stained dark, but he didn’t falter. Not pain. Not betrayal. Not loss. Nothing could touch him now, not if he refused it.The men straightened further, gripping their weapons, adjusting positions as if the angle of their stance mattered. Even the advisors, who thought themselves untouchable, shifted subtly, recalibrating their enti