Bride of the Mafia cripple のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 65

The east wing still smoldered.Men dragged corpses from marble floors, their boots leaving red trails where fire hoses had failed to wash away the blood. The Moretti estate, once a fortress of glass and iron, smelled like a grave.Leora stood in the courtyard, her hands shaking as she scrubbed soot from the Vessel’s face. The girl sat on the stone steps, silent, eyes fixed on the ruined windows. Her hair clung in damp strands, her lips parted as if she might whisper—but no sound came.Leora cupped her cheeks, forcing her gaze down. “You did well,” she said softly. “You saved me.”The girl blinked. Slowly, uncertainly, she asked, “Am I allowed?”Leora’s throat tightened. She kissed her forehead. “Yes. You’re allowed.”But the words felt fragile, paper-thin against the night.---Inside, Allerick’s men worked in grim silence.Marco stood near his Don, shirt torn and arm bandaged, face pale from blood loss. “Thirty dead, Don. Twenty more wounded. Half the staff gone. The house won’t hold

The message carved into steel had not been scrubbed away.Allerick ordered the warehouse sealed, untouched, as if the scars in the metal were an altar. Men stood guard at every door, but no one dared linger inside. The words seemed to bleed still.“Brothers share everything. Even blood.”The soldiers whispered of curses, of vendettas older than the Council itself. But when Allerick wheeled into the ruin, the whispers fell silent.He studied the grooves in the steel with a predator’s patience. His jaw flexed once, twice.Marco lingered behind him. “This wasn’t Council work.”“No,” Allerick agreed. His voice was so low it scraped like gravel. “This was family work.”The silence that followed was worse than gunfire.---Back at the estate, Leora felt the air heavy with unease. The men trained harder, barked sharper, their laughter dead. Even the walls seemed to listen.She moved like a ghost among them, binding wounds, fetching water, forcing smiles. But her thoughts gnawed her raw.Brot

The Moretti mansion no longer breathed.It suffocated.Every creak of the wood, every brush of wind against glass felt like a whisper of Dante’s presence. Guards no longer laughed between shifts. Even Marco—the loudest, boldest of them—kept his hand near his gun at all times, eyes shadowed with doubt.Dante had not struck in days.And that was worse than blood.Because silence was a weapon too.---Leora walked through the eastern wing with two guards trailing. She had begged Allerick for privacy, but even he knew better now.Still, no number of guards could banish the unease.Halfway down the corridor, she froze.There on the wall—a smear of red. Not paint. Blood.Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. Someone had written a single word with their fingertip, letters shaky but clear:LIAR.One of the guards swore. The other pressed his gun to the corner shadows, as if expecting Dante to step out smiling.But the corridor was empty.And that was the point.Leora whispered, “He’s not k