All Chapters of The Capo's Deadly Bride : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Delilah’s mind screamed, "No!" as she crawled toward the leader, fear painting her every move.  The air was thick with fear and salt, and the sound of gunfire from the guards at the railing echoed across the water.  Each shot sent another woman sinking into the depths of the ocean. Grasping the leader’s leg, she begged, "Please, don’t. Please!" He looked down at her, fury simmering in his cold eyes.  Without a word, he kicked her away. The force of the blow sent her sprawling across the deck, her head hitting the wood with a sickening crack.  Darkness swallowed her whole. Meanwhile, the guards continued their persistent assault, ensuring no head bobbed above the waterline. Their rifles spat fire, and the sea greedily claimed each life. The leader turned to one of his men and order

The sound of the padlock clicking into place echoed in the silence.  Delilah sat on the bed, her thoughts scattered like shattered glass.  Her body ached, and her mind reeled, but she held her composure, her face betraying none of the chaos within. "Hey, it's you," a voice called out, jolting her from her thoughts. Delilah glanced up at the bunk above hers.  A young girl leaned over the edge, her face familiar. It was the girl from the ship—the one who couldn’t have been older than eighteen. "Hey," Delilah replied, her voice plain, uninviting. "I’m Amara," the girl said, climbing down from her bed. "Alright," Delilah muttered, turning her gaze to the floor. Amara crouched near her, her youthful energy contrasting sharply with the suffocating stillness of the room.&

The bright morning light streaming into the beauty room highlighted the tense atmosphere as the recently arrived women were lined up, one by one, for their "makeovers." The room was heavy with the scent of floral shampoos, perfumes, and makeup powders. Some of the women trembled, others resigned themselves to their fate, their expressions hollow. Among them stood Delilah, her auburn curls falling loosely over her shoulders.She wasn’t trembling.She stood tall, neutral, detached, watching as one by one, the women were ushered forward. The ritual was always the same: a shower, their hair styled, makeup finely applied, and then dressed in clothing designed to leave nothing to the imagination.Delilah sat stiffly as a stylist worked on her hair, weaving the auburn strands into soft curls that framed her face. The makeup artist painted her features, highlighting her cheekbones and defining her lips until she looked like a porcelain doll. Her dress—a tight, revealing piece of fabric

The waves lapped softly against the fishing boat as it drifted in the late morning haze. Inside the cabin, the faint creak of wood accompanied the rhythmic sway of the vessel. Mabel lay on a small, cozy bed, her blonde hair damp and clinging to her face.Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the light filtering through a small circular window. She sat up carefully, her body moving sluggishly as if protesting every motion. Memories surged back like a rushing tide—the chaos, the traffickers, the gunshots, and the desperate leap into the sea.Her chest tightened as she pieced it all together. She remembered the ship, the women, and the cold embrace of the water. She had thought for sure she’d been shot. Her trembling fingers ran along her side, but there was no wound.Mabel muttered to herself, "Was I wrong? Did the bullet miss me?"A dull ache began to throb at her temple, and she pressed her fingers to her forehead. Her surroundings came into sharper focus—a compact, tidy

Argan’s brows furrowed as he leaned forward. The woman massaging his shoulders hesitated, her hands stilling as she noticed his shift in mood."An intruder?" he repeated, his voice sharp enough to cut through the humid air.The woman shrank back slightly but remained silent, her fear evident.Argan rubbed his forehead, frustration hinted in his every movement. "Ah, I just had to deal with that injured woman’s crap," he muttered, his tone dripping with irritation.Moments earlier, one of his men had informed him of a death among the newly acquired women and the growing nuisance of Delilah. Rejected by every client she’d been sent to, she had become a liability he could no longer ignore. Out of sheer frustration, he’d handed her off to a low-life client—a bald man with a potbelly, notorious for his violent tendencies and lack of standards.The thought of her only added to his sour mood. Taking a deep breath, he