Semua Bab Married to my Dad's Billionaire Mafia Friend: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Party Hall — Gavin Slade’s 60th Birthday"I know you are angry with me but can you please smile?" Leonard said to Sophia with a teasing glint in his eyes as they walked into the vibrant hall, arms linked. The opulence of the space was unmistakable — crystal chandeliers cast a golden hue over the crowd, and waiters in black tuxedos floated by with silver trays of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres."You know what you did," Sophia muttered, eyes avoiding his. Her voice was calm, but her words held weight.Leonard sighed, stealing a glance at the extravagant birthday cake in the center of the room — a towering white and gold masterpiece with bold red letters that read “Gavin @ 60.”Before he could speak again, a familiar voice cut through the room."Boss!" Mateo Reyes strode toward them with a grin. "Good to see you."Leonard extended a hand. "Good to see you too, Mateo.""Let’s go over there — our men are gathered," Mateo said, gesturing toward a corner of the room where several men in tailor

MORANO'S MANSION - LOGAN'S ROOMMassimo entered the softly lit room with quiet steps, carrying a tray with a bowl of hot soup. The air smelled faintly of chamomile and antiseptic. Logan lay motionless on the bed, his body bruised, bandaged, and pale, but his eyes followed Massimo with a mixture of curiosity and quiet longing.Without saying a word, Massimo placed the tray on the bedside table. He reached down carefully, slipping an arm behind Logan's back and lifting him gently. He placed a pillow behind him for support, making sure Logan leaned comfortably against it. The way he handled Logan was meticulous, as if any wrong touch might break him further.“Time to eat,” Massimo said softly as he sat beside the bed, picking up the bowl of soup. Steam curled up in gentle wisps, and he began blowing on a spoonful to cool it down.He brought the spoon to Logan’s lips. “Ah,” he signaled, waiting.But Logan didn’t open his mouth. He just stared at Massimo—weakly, but intensely.“If you keep

Sophia's POV MORANO'S MANSION - Leonard's Office "Don't worry, Grace. I will take it to him," I said softly, reaching out to take the tray of hot noodles from her hands. "Ma, I noticed sir didn’t eat his dinner," Grace replied, her brows slightly furrowed. "So I decided to make something light for him." "Thank you. I’ll make sure he eats it," I assured her with a small smile. She returned the gesture and walked away, leaving me standing before the door to Leonard’s office. I didn’t bother knocking. I opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. A soft amber glow came from a solitary lamp, casting long shadows across the dark wooden furniture. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint clink of ice against glass. Papers lay scattered across the floor and desk, evidence of his frustration. Leonard sat slouched in his chair behind the large desk, fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable. "You’ve been i

MORANO'S MANSION Morano's Mansion was quiet, the kind of quiet that came before a storm. The kind that clung to the walls and sat heavy in the lungs. Leonard moved through the hallways like a shadow—controlled, silent, but with danger threaded through every step. The moment he’d heard the slam of a door downstairs, instinct had taken over. Something wasn’t right.He had heard that sound before—once, years ago, when a hit had been ordered on his father. The footsteps, the creak of the floorboards, the way the air changed. He could sense danger in the marrow of his bones.Sophia remained behind in the office, standing barefoot on the cold marble floor. Her heart still raced from the intimacy they’d just shared, but now another kind of fear overtook it. She wrapped her nightgown tightly around her body and sat in Leonard’s leather chair, her ears trained on the sounds outside. The silence was deeper now, deceptive.Downstairs, near the back entrance of the mansion, a figure in all black

HOPE HOSPITAL The air was thick with despair, laced with the acrid scent of antiseptic that lingered in the sterile hospital room. The burnt woman sat in front of the cracked mirror, her eyes locked on her distorted reflection. Her face, once a mark of her beauty, was now a canvas of pain and scars. Third-degree burns covered most of her face and body, a horrific reminder of the fiery hell she had endured. “What’s this?” The lady’s voice trembled, disbelief mixed with horror as she reached up to touch the roughened skin on her cheek. She flinched, but there was no escape from the reflection staring back at her. Dr. Washington, ever the calm professional, stood beside the bed, trying to provide a measure of comfort. His two nurses stood by quietly, visibly uncomfortable with the outburst. “We’re glad you woke up, you’ve been in a coma for three months now,” he said gently, his voice attempting to soothe the woman’s frenzied emotions. “No! No!! No!!! This is not me!” She screamed,