Semua Bab TANGLED LOYALTIES:BOUND BY VENGEANCE: Bab 51 - Bab 60

ISABELLA'S POVPain, fear, and regret. They all came crashing in all at once. I lifted my gaze slowly, drowsiness attacking me as I shifted in the seat, propping my head slightly upward. A stifled groan and a light wince escaped my lips as I glanced around, trying to take in my current environment. The last thing I recalled was my heart thudding in my chest. I had woken up to an uproar in the house, chaos unleashed in the mafia world, and every maid had a whisper on their lips—Luca was having it bad. It wasn’t the smartest choice of my life, but I didn’t mind. I hurried my way toward his office to check on him, worried he'd be pissed to the core or broken. But to my despair, he was pissed. So I watched. Eavesdropping. Then I realized it was all because of the ledger—the one I had foolishly given away. I was pissed too, hurt maybe. I hadn’t expected Antonio to go so far, to such an extreme length. But I knew Luca wouldn’t spare me a minute to explain, so I ran as fast as my

--LUCA'S POVThe door swung open as Mancini barged in, his eyes searching directly for me amongst the others in the room. “I heard,” Mancini whispered, pulling closer to me. Not breaking his gaze, he tapped me slightly on the shoulder before squeezing my palm gently. “He was a soldier down to the last minute. I'm sure he'd be proud of you and wouldn’t want you breaking down,” Mancini reassured me. I nodded, trying to feign a smile, but I just couldn't. I should be mourning the death of my best friend, but here I was, assisting the others in a room, planning an attack. “Come on, man, huge fat to buckle up. We need to avenge his death. Every single one of us needs to make those bitches pay for messing with one of ours,” Mancini asserted again. For a brief moment, I was suspicious. How had he known about Antonio's death so fast? But I was quick to cross out the thought as soon as it settled in. This was the mafia—news spread fast, especially when the one dead was the second

LUCA'S POV She held my gaze in the mirror, the response I wanted desperately hovered above her lips. Yes, desperately—I knew what I wanted, and I knew what she wanted as well. I had let her go. Fuck , I was pissed as hell. She wanted to leave? Then she fucking could. That was how I felt the first week. But by the second, I succumbed. I was close to the peak of my insanity. I went on a killing spree—butchering my enemies, rival factions, spies in our Bratva. I ruined everyone as much as I could, using that as an outlet for my anger, my pain—trying to cover up the vast space Antonio left in me. But after a month, I had done all the killing I could. And my men? They were scared as fuck of me. I was a radiating time bomb waiting to tick off. The only nutjob crazy enough to stick up to me was Mancini. I remembered telling him to fuck off. I remembered shoving a punch into his face and him doing the same to me. We had beaten each other to the brink of death until no one cou

LUCA'S POVShe was sin itself. I shouldn't want her, I shouldn't touch her, but I did, and I craved more without stopping. I meant every word. I wanted to fall for her, die for her, and let her ruin me all she fucking wanted, even when a tad bit of subconscious voice screamed at me not to let my guard down. For all I knew, I could be nothing but some form of closure for her. She had broken herself when Antonio had died. What if that was all she wanted me for? Some damned replacement? Some error to be fixed? She couldn’t have Antonio anymore, and now she'd hop for me? But I nudged those dangerous thoughts aside, my eyes lost in hers as we pulled away from the kiss. Not for once did I loosen my grip on her. I wasn’t exactly certain how I survived for so long, telling myself she didn’t mean crap to me, because now that I finally had her in my arms again, I felt fucking whole. “Luca, I—” A sudden knock interrupted whatever it was she was about to say. A visible frown lined my

ISABELLA'S POVThe scent of cigars and expensive whiskey clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The room was dimly lit—soft, glows from the chandelier above,Boris Petrov sat in his oversized leather chair, puffing out smoke, his greedy eyes dragging over my body like I was just another nameless girl he had purchased. I could see it in his face—the sick hunger, the control he thought he had. He leaned forward, resting his thick, ringed fingers on his thighs, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "You’re a pretty one," he purred, his Russian accent thick and lazy. "Young, tight. Just how I like them." My lips curled in a slow, seductive smile. Of course, I knew he'd fall bait to it. I had dolled myself up, spoke and walked like some teen hooked on Xanax, just like he'd wanted. It had taken me no time to find him at his rich folk party in Prague, and it had taken no time for one of the hostesses to mistake me for one of the girls and direct me back towards the casino. At fi