Todos os capítulos de I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. : Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ I stepped into our home first, flanked by Luca and Vincenzo and the second we hit the marble foyer, we heard it. Laughter. I paused halfway out of my coat and followed the sound down the hall. There they were, in the grand living room, Alessia sat on the couch with a cup of tea in one hand, head thrown back, laughing like that after days. Claire was beside her, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably as she bounced Aurelia on her lap. The baby girl giggled, arms flailing, trying to slap a half-eaten cookie onto her mother’s blouse. Madeleine sat on the opposite couch, wearing one of the dresses I bought her this morning and looking like the sun had kissed her and never left. Her face was flushed from laughing too hard, and her hands were wrapped around a teacup she was clearly too distracted to drink from. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and Flan was curled up right in her lap. I wasn’t sure what had them all laughing so hard until I spotted

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 I couldn’t believe it. I was getting married. Married. I was sprawled in the middle of the living room. Adriano had lent an entire small estate for my family to stay in. I was wearing an oversized hoodie and pajama shorts. My left hand was stretched out in front of me like I was directing air traffic, just so everyone could get a proper look at the ring. Not a ring. The ring. Big, beautiful and sparkling. “Oh meu Deus,” my mother whispered for the fourteenth time, her fingers hovering just above my hand like she was scared to touch it and accidentally summon a car alarm. “Madeleine Júlia, this diamond is the size of a frango assado!” “It’s brighter than your future,” sofi said flatly, recording it for her I*******m story. “You might dislocate your shoulder if you keep holding it up like that,” Uncle Jorginho added with a laugh. My dad hadn’t spoken in three full minutes. He just kept staring at the ring like it was going to ask him for rent money.

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 If someone had told sixteen-year-old me back when I was sneaking into the U.S. with my heart in my throat and one suitcase to my name that one day I’d be wedding dress shopping in a luxury Chicago bridal atelier, I would’ve laughed. Yet here I was. Standing in a room, surrounded by crystal chandeliers, full-length gold mirrors, and wedding dresses that looked like they belonged behind glass at a museum. And in the middle of it all? My people. Claire and Alessia sat like they were the only two that belonged here, both in silk trench coats and impossibly high heels, sipping tiny espressos with the kind of grace that made even the sales associates stand straighter. Why do I feel like they’re secretly planning to baptize me into the Church of High Fashion the second I sign that marriage certificate? My mom and Tia Pati, on the other hand, were already elbow-deep in a rack labeled “Sample Clearance,” whispering to each other in Portuguese. I sat on a tuf

Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ The moment I saw the blood on Alessia’s hands, something in me snapped with rage. That sharp kind of rage that rolls up your spine and sinks its teeth into the back of your skull. Alessia was supposed to talk to Rino Lombardi. Talk, just words, it was controlled, secured and diplomatic. One-on-one. It was supposed to be clean before we even considered signing off on a truce. So if that bastard had touched her, If he’d laid a single fucking finger on her and she’d put a knife in him for it? Good fucking riddance. I’d make sure his body was dumped somewhere it’d never be found, not in a river, not in a grave, not even ash in the wind. I stepped into the room, “Alessia. What happened?” She turned slowly, she seemed too calm for someone with someone else’s blood drying on her skin. Her eyes dropped to her hand, then lifted back to mine. “It’s not mine,” her voice was low. I gave a short nod, jaw ticking, “Yeah. I can see that,” I stepped closer, “But if you kill

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up fast, off my knees, off the floor, onto the bed and spun me around like I weighed nothing. I let out a breathless laugh, but it died in my throat the second I saw where he was taking me. The mirror. He dragged me to the edge of the bed and bent me forward, palms flat on the mattress, knees sinking into the sheets. My ass up. Back arched. Face pointed directly at the floor-length mirror across from us. The one he installed a week ago. I’d thought it was decorative. Now I knew better. He stood behind me, both hands spreading my ass. I could feel him, not inside yet, just pressed there, pulsing, wet with spit. “I put that mirror there for a reason,” he muttered, “So I could watch your face,” he said, “the first time I take your ass.” My eyes met his in the mirror. His hand came down hard on my ass, the sound echoing off the walls. I yelped, thighs clenching, but stayed in place, back arched, body already ope