Semua Bab Sold To The Mafia Lord: Bab 81 - Bab 90

Emilia woke to heat.Not the kind from sunlight or warm sheets, but the kind that curled low in her belly, electric and spreading fast.She gasped, her back arching against the silk sheets as Lucien’s mouth worked her over with slow, devastating precision. His hands held her hips in place, tongue moving in deliberate strokes that made her thighs tremble.“Lucien,” she breathed, half asleep, dazed, still unsure if this was real.He didn’t stop. He looked up at her from between her legs, eyes dark and intent.“Morning,” he murmured against her, voice low and hungry.She bit her lip, toes curling. “You… God, this isn’t fair.”His chuckle vibrated against her clit. “I’ve been distracted lately. Let me make it up to you.”And he did.Again and again, until she was moaning his name and shaking under him, her release crashing over her like a storm.When he finally climbed up her body and kissed her, slow, messy, and full of heat, she was breathless and smiling.“Good morning,” she said weakly

Gunfire.It cracked through the silence like lightning, loud enough to shake the floor beneath Emilia’s bare feet.She sat frozen at the edge of the bed, fingers clenched around the cool grip of the gun Lucien had given her. The echoes of chaos pulsed through the walls, and with each new burst of sound, her heart pounded harder. Shouting. Screaming. The sharp bark of automatic weapons.Lucien was out there.Fighting.Bleeding.Possibly dying.And she was in here. Hidden. Useless.Her breath came fast and shallow. The silk robe clung to her skin, damp with sweat and fear. Her fingers twitched against the gun, her mind screaming at her to stay put like he told her. Stay safe. Stay hidden.But that voice, that obedient part of her, was drowning beneath something louder. Fiercer. Something rising from her chest like a storm.You’re not just his lover.You’re supposed to be his queen.A queen didn’t cower while her king bled.She stood.The robe flowed around her legs as she crossed the roo

The stench of blood clung to the marble floors of the moretti estate like a second skin. Gunfire still echoed in the halls as Julio moved quickly, Emilia a few steps behind him. She wore nothing but the silk robe Lucien had draped over her earlier, tied loosely around her waist, blood spattered across its folds now. Her hair was a mess, her feet bare, but in each of her hands she held a gun, both given to her by Lucien. And her eyes…They were cold. Focused. Lucien had ordered him, no, commanded him, to get her out of the line of fire. To take her back to his private wing and make sure she was safe. But as Julio glanced behind him and caught the fire in Emilia’s eyes, he knew this wouldn’t be a simple escort mission.She was no longer the fragile girl who had trembled in the shadows when she first arrived. War had a way of forging steel out of flesh, and Emilia Romano was turning into something dangerous.He’d seen Lucien fight before. Not even during their darkest battles. But tonigh

The marble floors of the Moretti estate were littered with bullet casings, blood, and the scent of gunpowder. Smoke still hung low in the halls, curling like ghosts through broken windows and shattered doorways. The storm had passed, but the wreckage remained.Lucien Moretti walked through it all like a god of war, shirt torn open, blood painting his skin, death clinging to him like cologne. His hand never left Emilia’s waist.He held her there. Firm. Unapologetic.Not hidden. Not shielded.Claimed.Emilia’s silk robe clung to her body, streaked in dark blood, none of it hers. Her feet were bare, smeared with ash and red, whispering across the cold tile. Her hair was wild, tangled by sweat and smoke, curling around her face like a crown forged in chaos.There was no shame in her eyes.Only fire.Lucien barked orders as they moved through the estate. “Get the wounded to the infirmary. I want this hall cleared by nightfall. No excuses.”Men scattered to obey, stepping aside when they pas

The city outside the Moretti estate breathed like it hadn’t just bled.Julio needed out. Out of the smoke. Out of the blood. Out of the pressure building in his skull that no amount of gunfire could quiet.So he slipped out under the cover of night. No guards. No one. Just him and the growl of his black Ducati as it roared down the coastal highway.The brothel was tucked behind a shuttered florist shop, the front lit with a single flickering bulb and a red curtain in the window. No sign. It didn’t need one.Julio didn’t knock.She opened the door before his hand hit the wood.Dark hair. Freckles. Long legs and a wicked mouth. Her name was Kira, though he wasn’t sure if it was real. She never asked why he came, and he never asked who came before him.“Rough night?” she asked, eyeing the cut over his brow and the smear of blood on his jaw.Julio walked in without a word, grabbed her by the waist, and slammed the door shut with his boot.Their mouths collided before they hit the bed.Roug