Sold To The Mafia Lord의 모든 챕터: 챕터 201 - 챕터 210

The knock on the door came soft but urgent.Lucien lifted his gaze from the map sprawled across his desk, the one Enzo had marked with new routes and red warnings. The blood on his cuffs from Matteo’s execution had dried to a dark stiffness, but the fury in his chest was still molten, coiled, hungry.“Boss,” Gianni said from the hallway. “We have her.”Lucien nodded once. “Bring her in.”The door opened, and Kira stepped inside.He had prepared himself to face her. He thought he had braced for it. But seeing her in person hit harder than expected.This was the woman Julio kept going back to, no matter how many times Lucien teased or warned him. This was the woman Julio sought not only for information, but for the kind of warmth a man didn’t admit he needed. A quiet, forbidden softness he had never allowed himself to claim openly.She looked small, not in stature, but in spirit. Her shoulders were drawn inward as if trying to disappear. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks, tangled and unw

Emilia leaves her room, not out of courage, not out of pride, but because exhaustion has finally won. The silence pressing against her chest, the invisibility in a house that once trembled at her presence, the constant feeling of being forgotten, all of it has become unbearable. She needs movement, a change, any shift to remind her she still exists in this place.The hallways smell faintly of polished wood and candle smoke. Each step echoes, a hollow rhythm that reminds her how long she has been cooped up, hidden away in a room that has become both sanctuary and prison. The walls are familiar, yet cold, indifferent to the turmoil that twists in her chest.Heads bow as she passes. Murmurs of “Signora Emilia” brush against her ears. Respect. Fear. Power. She still commands them, yet the man whose gaze once consumed her, whose presence shaped her every day, is nowhere. Invisible.The recognition should comfort her. It almost does. She pauses, tempted to turn back to the safety of her room

Lucien stands in the center of the war room, the atmosphere charged, thick, crackling with restrained violence. Maps cover the long table, red markers scattered across the zones where Julio’s killers are hiding. They have spent weeks gathering information and preparing for this war. The men around him, Enzo, Valerio, Marco, gianni, and the rest of his elite force, wait in sharp silence. They don’t breathe too loudly, don’t blink too much. When their boss looks like this, cold, sculpted fury, no one interrupts him.Lucien doesn’t sit. He stands, shoulders locked, jaw flexing as he stares at the layout one more time.Julio’s blood is still on his hands.Not literally, he had washed it off the night the man died, but in a way only brotherhood could carve into flesh.“Everything is ready,” Valerio says quietly.Lucien nods once. “Good.”The silence feels like metal scraping. A single inhale could shatter it.He studies each man in the room, faces hard, loyal, waiting for his command. Some

Lucien wasn’t supposed to be here long. He wasn’t supposed to linger. Wasn’t supposed to breathe.He had come to say one thing to Kira before war swallowed him whole."I’m avenging him."That was all. Just that. And to check on the child Julio never knew he had… the child Lucien had sworn, quietly, without fanfare, to protect.He didn’t come here daily. Didn’t check on her every day. Didn’t hover.It was something inside him, duty, loyalty, grief, had driven him to her door.He expected silence. He expected Kira alone. He expected to walk in, say his piece, and leave. What he did not expect was the soft murmur of two women’s voices blending together from inside the room.Two.Not one.He stopped.Every muscle in him went rigid as the truth sank in, Emilia was inside.His Emilia.He angled his body just slightly, just enough to see through the small gap in the half opened door.And there she was. Sitting beside Kira on the sofa, her head bowed slightly, her fingers trembling where they

Lucien’s gaze burned into her the moment she stepped into the room. She froze at the door, framed by the dim light, every breath she took dragging across his nerves like fire. A month of absence, of silence, of half remembered dreams of her, it all came crashing back in one heartbeat.He moved forward, each step deliberate, his boots silent on the polished floor. The distance between them seemed impossible and yet unbearably small, charged with the memory of every unspoken word, every night spent wondering if she thought of him.By the time he reached her, the air between them was taut, electric. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. She flinched, almost instinctively, but did not pull away.He could seen the tears swelled up in her eyes but she is holding them together. He knew she is strong. But seeing her like this made his self control snapped. Before he could hesitate, before