Semua Bab The Mafia Kings Plaything : Bab 141 - Bab 150

Katarina POV“Hold still, bella,” one of the beauticians whispered, tugging my hair gently as hot air blasted against my scalp.“I am holding still,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.Selena laughed from her chair. “You’re the worst client ever.”Selena groaned beside me, legs propped up on the velvet stool like she owned the damn palace. Her silk robe slipped down one shoulder, her glass of champagne already half-empty. I laughed through my own blush being blended.“I’m the prettiest one though,” I shot back, smirking at her in the mirror.The room smelled like hairspray and roses. Lipsticks, brushes, glittery things covered every inch of the vanity. My skin tingled from the cold serum someone rubbed on me earlier. They were painting me like a damn canvas.Vittorio wasn’t even here to see it. Not yet.“Is this too much?” I asked, squinting at my reflection. My red dress hung on the rack like it was breathing, alive. Bold. Dangerous. The kind of dress you wear to make enemies sweat and lov

Katarina POVThe sound of the doors slamming open hit harder than the music.Every head turned. Every glass froze halfway to lips. Even my breath caught mid-inhale.She stood there like she owned the air.Fiorella.Long black hair spilling over her shoulders, skin glowing like moonlight had kissed it, a dress that clung to her body like it was afraid to let go. The kind of beauty that makes people jealous just for existing.And the little girl beside her— My stomach clenched. Because that child looked like Vittorio. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same fire.It was like looking at him in miniature.Even the crowd knew it. The silence in the room was alive—whispers itching to burst but no one brave enough yet.Vittorio’s face went pale, sharp. Valentino looked like someone had yanked his soul out of his chest.Valentino was the first to speak, his voice cutting the air. “Who the hell are you? And why are you here? Fiorella is dead. Are you her twin or something?”She laughed. Not nervous

Katarina POVThe words stayed locked in my throat. I didn’t say them out loud, but my whole body was screaming it. My fingers were tight at my sides, nails digging into my palms, while Vittorio walked awayI had waited—God, I had waited—for him to come over, pull me close in front of everyone, make it clear I wasn’t going anywhere no matter what ghost of a goddess had just walked back into our lives. But he didn’t.He just left me standing there in a room full of whispers.He looked… lost. Like someone had just stolen the ground from under him. His eyes were somewhere else, his hand reaching for two champagne bottles like that was the only thing holding him together. Then he walked out. No glance back My chest tightened until it hurt. The heat rose fast, burning up my neck, flooding my cheeks. My heart was beating so hard it made my ears ring. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, waiting to see if I’d crumble or run after him like some desperate girl. Fine. Let him drink himse

Katarina POVThe knock wasn’t loud, but it still made my chest clench. When I opened the door, Vittorio was there — no tie, shirt hanging open like it had given up on him, hair a mess from his own hands. He smelled like champagne and something darker, heavier… the kind of scent that stuck to skin even after you left the room.“I can’t sleep without you,”His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, but there was a crack in it that made my stomach twist. “For a moment I just stared at him. He leaned on the frame, arm braced against the wood like it held him up. His suit was half-untied, tie hanging like a defeated snake. Eyes glassy. Hands that jittered just enough to prove he’d had too much and yet somehow locked on me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.Behind me, Selena sat up on the bed, eyes darting between us. Then she smirked, that cat-in-the-cream look on her face.“Oh no,” she whispered, “this is gonna be good.”I turned my head toward her and gave a quick, del

Vittorio POVThe first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was her.Katarina. Curled on her side, breathing soft, her hair scattered over my pillow like it had always belonged there. One bare shoulder peeked from under the blanket, pale in the early light. She didn’t even stir when I shifted.For a few seconds, I just looked at her. Something low in my chest tightened — like someone had their hand in there and was twisting it.Then last night began coming back in pieces. Not all of it — just flashes, blurred like a smudged photograph.The champagne on my tongue. Her scent — not jasmine, not roses — the kind of clean warmth that clings to a woman after she’s been asleep. Then another scent, sharper, sweeter. Jasmine. Fiorella’s scent.I remembered leaving this bed. I remembered going to Fiorella’s room.I’d gone to warn her. To ask her why she was here, why now. I told her to stay out of sight today. It wasn’t just any day — it was the campaign shoot for my election. Media everywhere.