All Chapters of Entangled with the Mafia Don: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Ezra's POV:The searing pain on my cheek was nothing compared to the gaping wound Davina had torn open in my chest. Criminal. The word echoed, burning, twisting every attempt I had made, every sacrifice, into something vile. She hated me. She wanted to be free of me, and the world I moved in. And in my rage, I had pushed her further away, forced her hand, made her loathe me even more. The taste of her furious kiss still lingered, a bitter, tantalizing ghost, mockingly juxtaposed with the fresh sting of her slap.My hand dropped from my face. Anger, raw and consuming, coiled in my gut, needing an outlet. This volatile emotion, compounded by the simmering tension with my father and the looming Sokolov threat, had nowhere to go. My focus sharpened, narrowing on the most immediate, tangible problem. There had been reports from my men, whispers of a low-level crew trying to skim from one of my protection rackets, or worse, trying to leverage information they'd overheard about the recent De

Ezra's POV:The heavy doors of my office had clicked shut behind me that night, a sound that sealed her in, and, I realized now, sealed me out. In the days, weeks, that followed, the silence from Davina was a colder, more potent weapon than any scream. She was back in the penthouse, under my watchful eye, ostensibly safe. But safe from me? That was the question that clawed at me, day and night.She moved through the vast, opulent spaces like a ghost. Her initial terror had solidified into a chilling, unwavering resolve. She kept herself meticulously out of my reach. When I was in the living areas, she was in the library or the assigned office space I'd had set up for her. When I went to the gym, she would be gone, presumably in her room. Meals were a silent, agonizing ballet of avoidance. Her eyes, when they met mine, were devoid of the fire, the anger, the warmth that had once burned there. Now, there was only a stark, blank wall, or a flicker of revulsion she quickly masked.She was

Davina's POV: The thought of stepping outside, of breathing air not filtered through Ezra's penthouse or the one from the club, was a tantalizing, terrifying prospect. After hanging up with Lexi, a surge of defiant energy mixed with crippling dread. How would I even leave? Ezra had made it clear I was a prisoner, I could only go to the club with him and be back to his penthouse. My mind raced, contemplating defiance, but the sheer scale of his control. There was only one way. I found Ezra in his private gym, a sleek, modern space humming with the low thrum of high-tech machinery. He was on the bench press, his powerful chest heaving, veins prominent in his forearms as he pushed an impossible amount of weight. Sweat sheened on his skin, glistening over taut muscles that flexed and rippled with each controlled movement. His black tank top clung to his torso, defining every sculpted line, his dark hair damp and falling across his forehead. My mouth went dry. A primal, unwanted heat

Davina's POV:The confrontation at my home had ripped the delicate tapestry of our lives apart, but for the first time in months, something honest was woven back in. After I left Dexter broken on the floor, the police were called—not by us, but by a horrified neighbor. The ensuing hours were a blur of hushed statements, Lexi's tearful relief, and my mother’s stunned silence.The truth—about Dexter's affairs, his violence toward Lexi, and his vile attempts to assault me—had been laid bare. It was a lot for my mum to absorb, but seeing the bruises on her pregnant daughter’s face and witnessing her son-in-law's brutality broke through the stone wall of her judgment. By the time the police left, Dexter was gone. Kicked out by Lydia herself, who refused to let him back in the door.Lexi, with a quiet strength that made me incredibly proud, declared she was filing for divorce. The child she carried would not be raised under a cloud of fear and deception. The terror had given way to resolve,

Davina's POV:The sunlight that streamed through the vast bedroom windows was soft, warm, and utterly peaceful—a stark contrast to the turbulent storm of the night before. I woke up slowly, every muscle in my body pleasantly aching, feeling utterly exhausted and yet more alive than I had in months.Ezra's arm was draped heavily over my waist, pulling me tight against his side. The scent of him—musk, sweat, and expensive cologne—was intoxicating. He was already awake, his breath warm against my hair. We moved together, not separating, but finding a new rhythm, a slow, languid dance of bodies that was both gentle and intensely possessive. It wasn't the frantic need of the previous night, but a deeper, more intimate claiming. His movements were deliberate, his eyes fixed on mine, conveying a tenderness that was usually veiled by his cold exterior.Afterward, I settled against his chest, listening to the powerful, steady rhythm of his heart. His fingers played idly with a strand of my hai