All Chapters of GIOVANNI: A FORBIDDEN MAFIA ROMANCE : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

CHAPTER 61- Mirabella’s POV My body went cold the second I heard his name.Marco. What the fuck did he want now? There was always something fucking happening in this world.The sound alone was enough to drag me back. Back to the night Papa died. The crack of the gun still lived in my bones, the metallic sting of blood in the air clinging to my throat. I saw Marco’s face again in that haze, shadowed, unreadable, lips pressed tight like he was already calculating the power he would seize even as our father’s body fell.For one fractured moment, I had thought he was on my side. That killing Salvatore meant freeing me. But Marco had never really protected me. Not from our father’s wrath. Not from the nights I locked myself in my room and prayed to be invisible. He had always chosen power, ambition, himself. And later, when he found out I married Giovanni, his threats echoed louder than any promise of family he ever gave me.“Mirabella.” Giovanni’s voice cut into my spi

CHAPTER 63: Mirabella’s POV The moonlight cut through the curtains, spilling over the bed in pale silver. Tuscany was quiet in that way that made your heartbeat sound too loud. Giovanni’s arm was still draped around my waist, heavy and possessive, his breathing slow and even against my neck.Sleep wouldn’t come back to me. My body was still, but my mind wouldn’t stop. Every time I closed my eyes, Marco’s voice echoed, that smug, taunting calm he always used before doing something cruel. Giovanni said he’d burn the world for me. And I believed him. That terrified me almost as much as Marco did.I slipped out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. The marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet as I padded toward the window. Outside, the vineyards stretched under the moon like a sea of silver leaves. The air was cool and sharp when I opened the door and stepped onto the terrace.The stables were a dark silhouette beyond the garden. I don’t know what possessed me to go

CHAPTER 65: Mirabella’s POV The moment the gunshot cracked through the room, my scream ripped straight out of my chest.“GIO!”His body slammed into mine, heavy, warm, and then terrifyingly limp.“No, no, no, Gio, baby, fuck…” My hands shook as I pressed them against his chest. Blood wasn’t pouring out. Not like I expected. But the impact had knocked him completely unconscious.His head fell to the side. His eyes stayed closed.“GIOVANNI!”Panic crashed over me in a violent wave. I grabbed his face with trembling hands, tapping him lightly, then harder.“Wake up, wake the fuck up, Giovanni!”My breath came out in sharp, ragged gasps. The room was still ringing from the explosion of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, glass everywhere.Footsteps stormed into the villa.Guns. Shouting. My name.“Madonna, Mirabella! Get back!” one of Giovanni’s men yelled as they rushed inside, firing toward the tree line outside.I curled over Giovanni’s body, shielding

CHAPTER 67: Mirabella’s POV The morning sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bedroom. The city outside was waking up, but inside, it felt like the world had shrunk to just this room, just Giovanni, just me.I stirred carefully, not wanting to wake him. His chest rose and fell steadily, but I couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at me. Marco was my brother, and he had used me to target Giovanni. If I hadn’t been involved… if I hadn’t been the one Marco manipulated… he wouldn’t have gotten shot. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted the bandages across his ribs, careful not to hurt him.“Kitten…” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. His eyes cracked open halfway, half-lidded, and I saw that signature smirk even before his gaze fully focused.“You’re awake,” I whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead.“Yeah,” he rasped. “Although I’d rather have you in my arms for much longer.”“Hmm,” I hummed, voice low. I sat

CHAPTER 69: Mirabella’s POV I woke up to silence.Not the peaceful kind. The wrong kind. The kind that pressed in on your ears until your pulse sounded too loud, too present.My head throbbed dully as I opened my eyes, the ceiling swimming for a second before settling into focus.White.Too white.My breath caught before I could stop it.I knew that ceiling.The faint hairline crack near the corner. The old water stain my father never fixed. The stupid chandelier hook that never held anything because Mama refused to let him hang it.My stomach dropped.No.I pushed myself upright slowly, testing my body before panic could take the wheel. My limbs responded. No restraints. No sharp pain. Just the heavy fog of being knocked out and a tension headache blooming behind my eyes.The room looked exactly the same.My old bed. The dresser. The wardrobe with the warped door that never shut properly. Even the faded rug I used to trace patterns on when I couldn’t sleep.But it felt smaller now.