Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bride of the Mafia cripple : Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

The girl in red turned the notebook over in her hands as though afraid the pages might bleed. Her thumbs brushed across the worn cover, tracing the letters like they were carved into stone. She hadn’t opened it yet.Leora waited.The silence stretched, thick as glass between them.Finally, the girl whispered: “Stories are dangerous.”Leora pressed her palm against the barrier, her breath clouding the glass. “Then it’s the right kind of danger.”The girl lowered her gaze, lashes dark against pale skin. She hugged the notebook to her chest like a child clutching a fragile toy. And for the first time since Leora had seen her, something cracked in that mask of stillness. Not rebellion. Not joy. But… tremor.A seed.Leora’s throat tightened. She wanted to say more—about the sun, about names, about how the world was worth bleeding for—but a sound stopped her.A hiss.The air vents above shifted. Cold, sterile wind washed down the corridor. And with it, the unmistakable click of cameras rea

The girl in red had never been seen outside her glass chamber.Until now.Leora didn’t know who had unlatched the door—or if it had been the girl herself—but when she descended to the corridor the next evening, the chamber was open.Empty.Her pulse spiked. “No…”Footsteps echoed behind her. She spun, half-expecting guards, but it was Allerick. His chair moved silently across the stone, shadows clinging to him like smoke.“She’s gone.” His voice was neither surprised nor alarmed. Just… inevitable.Leora’s throat tightened. “Gone where?”Allerick’s mouth curved into something between grim amusement and warning. “That is the question, isn’t it? A vessel with a will is like a loaded gun on the table. No one knows who will pick it up first.”---They found her in the library.The girl in red sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered books. Pages torn, spines cracked, words spilling like blood across the carpet. She didn’t look up when Leora entered, but her hands trembled as

The storm broke at dawn.It began with silence. No birdsong, no distant hum of the city below. Only stillness, so sharp it felt like the world was holding its breath.Leora sensed it before she saw it—the shift in the air, the prickling tension crawling across her skin. She rose from bed, heart hammering, and found Allerick already awake, chair angled toward the window.“They’re here,” he said.Down below, black cars rolled into the courtyard like coffins on wheels. Doors opened. Men spilled out—Council soldiers, faceless and efficient. Their boots struck the stone in perfect unison.The girl in red appeared at Leora’s side, clutching her notebook, eyes wide. “They’ve come for me.”Leora grasped her trembling hand. “They’ll have to walk through fire first.”Allerick’s voice was iron. “Then we burn them.”---The house erupted in chaos. Guards armed themselves. Windows slammed shut. The front gates groaned as the Council’s men pushed against them.Allerick rolled into the grand hall, h

Night in the Moretti estate was never truly silent.Even when the guards hushed their steps, even when the chandeliers dimmed, the house itself seemed to breathe—a restless giant waiting for dawn.Leora lay awake, listening to that breath. The ceiling above felt oppressive, pressing her down with thoughts that wouldn’t quiet.The girl slept fitfully on the cot beside her, notebook clutched tight to her chest like a holy relic. In the glow of the dying lamp, her face looked younger—soft, almost innocent. But even in sleep, her fingers twitched as though fire lingered just beneath her skin.Leora reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow. The girl stirred, whispering in her dreams. One word repeated, over and over: rules.Leora’s chest ached. “You’re more than rules,” she whispered. “More than what they made you.”But the girl didn’t wake.---By morning, the house pulsed with restless energy. The guards moved briskly, checking weapons, stacking crates, their voices low b

The house groaned like a dying beast.Smoke pressed down on the gilded ceilings, fire licked across priceless tapestries, and the east wing’s grand chandelier dangled by a single chain, swinging wildly above the battlefield.Council soldiers shouted commands through their black masks, storming through the breach. Moretti guards fired back with desperate precision, the marble floors slick with blood.And then—like shadows carved from the night—they arrived.The third force.Silent. Efficient. Moving as one. Their formation was military, but too precise, too rehearsed. Their black uniforms carried no insignia.Their leader strode in front, mask peeled back just long enough to reveal a face Leora knew, a ghost dragged from the grave. But before recognition could sink its claws fully into her, the figure gave a mocking bow.“Don Moretti,” the stranger purred, voice carrying above the carnage. “It seems your war has grown… crowded.”And then—chaos doubled.---The new arrivals tore into bo