All Chapters of Mafia King’s Regret: Winning Rebellious Bride Back: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

He stood frozen, staring at Vera’s retreating figure as if someone had gutted him and left the blade inside. Each step she took away from him felt like another nail hammered into the coffin of the man he had been trying to become. The woman he had bled for, killed for, rejected him without blinking, and worse, she meant it.He blinked back the sting in his eyes, but the moment shattered as the guards returned—this time with orders.Rough hands grabbed his arms, dragging him back toward the hospital entrance. He jerked against them.“Don’t touch me,” he growled, but they didn’t loosen their grip. As they pulled him outside, the heavy glass doors hissed shut behind him with finality. Two familiar figures stood in front, Viktor and Dimitry.Roman surged forward again, jaw clenched. “Move. Or you’ll make me.”But Viktor didn’t flinch. He simply raised one hand—a warning, not a threat. “We don’t want to hurt you, Roman,” he said. “Call it mercy—because of our past. Or maybe because our sis

Dinner was served in a grand dining hall that felt more like a courtroom than a place to share a meal. The ceilings stretched high, the chandeliers hanging low with soft, amber light that didn’t quite touch the far corners. A long polished table ran almost the full length of the room, and Vera felt small sitting at one end of it.Her eyes drifted toward the head of the table—toward him. Their father sat in his wheelchair, a nurse at his side, patiently spooning small portions into his mouth. He chewed slowly, eyes fixed on nothing.She wondered if he could even hear them… if he knew she was here.The quiet between clinks of silverware felt heavier than the stone walls around them.Leila sat beside her, offering little nudges and smiles, keeping her from feeling completely swallowed by the cold space. Vera didn’t say much, but the simple presence of her friend was enough to keep her anchored. Without her, this place—this family—might have felt like a foreign land she’d never survive.

The flight to Italy had been a blur of restless thoughts and half-formed memories. Roman hadn’t slept; he hadn’t even bothered with the food or the drinks the attendants offered. Every minute that passed only drew him closer to a man he had spent years hating, a man whose name had been a curse in his household.When the car finally slowed, pulling into a quiet street lined with olive trees, Roman was almost taken aback by the sight before him. No iron gates. No armed guards. No grand mansion hidden behind high walls. Just a modest two-story house with a pale stucco exterior and green shutters weathered by time.As the driver eased to a stop, Roman stepped out into the warm Italian air. The hum of a lawn mower filled the space, blending with the chirping of distant birds. His gaze shifted—and there he was.Marco Ivankov.He was not the looming, dangerous figure Roman had carried in his mind for years. He was just an old man in worn boots and a faded shirt, pushing a mower across the pa

Vera stood in front of the tall mirror, her hands resting lightly at her sides. The gown she wore was a deep midnight blue, smooth and soft, shine under the light. It hugged her figure gently before flowing down to the floor, swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. The neckline framed her collarbones in a neat, elegant way, and her hair was pinned up, a few loose strands falling around her face. She looked every bit the part of a woman who belonged here, though inside, she didn’t feel that way at all. Leila was leaning against the vanity behind her, watching with a smile. “You look beautiful,” she said warmly as she fixed the hair pin. Vera glanced at her reflection again, almost as if she was searching for proof in her own eyes. “I don’t know, Leila… I feel like I’m somewhere I don’t belong. Like I’m living someone else’s life.” Leila stepped forward, her reflection joining Vera’s in the mirror. “It’s all new for you,” she said, “You’ve been through a lot, and it’s going to ta

Roman’s eyes opened slowly, as if his lids weighed a hundred pounds each. His vision blurred at first, the shadows around him swimming into focus. His left eye was swollen shut, a dull throbbing radiating through his skull. His lower lip was split and bleeding, the metallic taste thick on his tongue.His wrists ached where the rope bit deep into raw skin, and his hands were tied so tight he could barely feel his fingers except for the searing sting where fingernails had been ripped out. Pain became another definition of his body, but not his thoughts. They were still hanging only for one word, one person- VeraHis clothes hung in tatters, soaked in sweat, dirt, and blood. The sound came next—creak… The dungeon door swung open, and light from the corridor spilled across the floor. Roman’s head felt heavy, but he forced himself to turn toward it. His neck protested, every movement sharp, but he flicked his one good eye toward the sound. Viktor stepped in, his presence filling the space.