Bride of the Mafia cripple のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

The Astoria’s grand ballroom shimmered like a mirage conjured by gods—opulent, golden, and breathtakingly lethal. From the towering crystal chandeliers overhead to the glinting champagne flutes held by manicured fingers, the entire space glowed with decadent excess. Gilded mirrors covered the walls, fracturing the light into cascading shards that danced across silk gowns and velvet suits, turning every guest into a reflection of glamour and menace.It looked like a celebration. It felt like a trap.Leora Valencia stood at the ballroom’s edge, cloaked in shadow, the cool air tasting faintly of lilies, liquor, and lies. Her dress—sleek black silk with a neckline that plunged just enough to silence the room—moved like smoke around her body. Every element of her appearance was a weapon: the diamond pin gleaming at her collarbone, the blood-red tint of her lips, the measured stillness of her posture. She wasn’t just dressed for a party.She was armored for war.Eyes followed her like whisp

Leora stared at the invitation, her fingers trembling though she refused to acknowledge it—even to herself. The thick cream-colored parchment felt soft, expensive, and warm beneath her grip, yet her nails dug into its edges as if trying to shred a threat she couldn’t quite name. Golden script shimmered beneath the chandelier’s glow, its elegance concealing something venomous underneath.> The Vitale Family cordially invites you to a Peace Summit—an evening of diplomacy, unity, and future collaboration.Her lips curled in disgust.Diplomacy. Unity. Collaboration.They sounded sweet—like honey left to rot.She could practically hear Carmine Vitale’s voice in her head, smooth and polished, the voice of a man who smiled as he bled you dry. He never spoke without three layers of meaning and five contingency plans. This wasn’t an invitation. It was a leash disguised in calligraphy.She turned abruptly, heels clicking like gunshots across the marble floor of Allerick’s private study. The sou

The glittering lights of the gala painted fractured shadows across the marble floor, each reflection sharper than the last. Beneath the cascading chandeliers—droplets of crystal frozen mid-fall—Leora moved like a blade wrapped in velvet. Her gown, a sheath of midnight blue, clung to her with liquid grace, the satin catching light like ripples on dark water. Every step was measured. Every glance deliberate. And yet, her heart thundered in her chest, wild and unrelenting.She had felt it—that flicker.That invisible ripple in the air, like the brush of cold fingers on her spine. It happened when her eyes met his across the room.Matteo.Her advisor. Her confidant. The man who once stood between her and ruin. A constant shadow with a steady voice and sharp mind. He’d known her secrets before she’d spoken them, stood at her side when no one else dared.And tonight, he looked like a stranger wearing Matteo’s skin.He was near the bar, framed by a sea of suited elites and sparkling flutes.

They didn’t speak on the drive back.Not because the silence was comfortable. It wasn’t. It pressed against them like a second skin—thick, suffocating, pulsing with everything they didn’t say. The car hummed along rain-slicked roads, the city outside a blur of color and movement, but inside the cabin, time had slowed.Leora sat curled into herself in the passenger seat, arms folded tightly around her torso as if to stop the pieces of her from falling apart. Her hair clung damply to her skin, and her dress, once a thing of elegance and armor, now felt like a sodden reminder of everything they’d just survived.She stared out the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass like tears in a race. But she wasn’t really seeing them. Her mind was elsewhere—trapped in the moment Allerick had thrown himself in front of her, shielding her without a second thought. The sharp retort of gunfire still echoed in her ears. The heat of his body, the weight of his protection—it all l

“You can’t bury what breathes in your shadow.”The night loomed over the Moretti estate like a velvet noose—tight, still, and on the edge of snapping. Not even the wind dared to move. The moon hung pale and distant, swallowed by clouds, and the silence pressed against the walls like a held breath waiting to break.Leora woke with a jolt.There was no sound—no thunder, no scream—yet her body had snapped upright, drenched in a sweat that chilled instantly in the air. Her fingers curled into the sheets, clutching fabric as if it could anchor her to something real.But this darkness… it wasn't ordinary. It was thick, suffocating. It crawled across her skin like unseen fingers, whispering things her mind couldn’t catch.She reached out instinctively.The other side of the bed was empty. Still warm, but empty.Her hand lingered in the dip he’d left behind, fingers brushing the faint imprint of his body. The scent clung to the linens—tobacco, leather, something bitter and dangerous. A scent