All Chapters of The Mafia Kings Plaything : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Katarina’s POV, Liam’s House“Kat?” Liam’s voice floated from the other room, soft and strange. I tightened my grip on the knife.The knife trembled in my hand, so badly I almost dropped it. Instead, I slid it into the deep pocket of Liam’s trousers—the ones I’d stolen off him when he wasn’t paying attention.I pressed my back to the cold counter, the blade slipping dangerously across my sweaty thighs. Every breath felt too loud, too risky. The old wood floor creaked beneath my bare feet with every tiny shift.I couldn't fucking move in this place I couldn't fucking breathe.Liam paced the living room, mumbling to himself in that weird, nerdy, too-sweet voice. The same “gentle” side that gave me burnt toast and mint tea—right after nearly snapping my wrist against the door.The house reeked of old soap, dust, and something sweetly rotten—like overripe fruit. My hair clung to my damp skin, sweat pooling under my ribs and thighs. Every hair on my arms stood on edge.I didn’t trust Liam a

Vittorio’s POV“Merda!” I slammed the crystal tumbler so hard against the bar that the amber liquor sprayed across my knuckles. The glass didn’t break. Shame.I shouldn’t be waiting this long. Not for her.“Pietro!” My voice snapped like a whip across the marble expanse of the living room.The little bastard was at the far end of the room, his fingers jittering across his laptop, pretending to look busy. He flinched from behind his laptop, his eyes lit blue like a ghost caught on a screen. The click of his fingers paused. I saw his shoulders tighten. He didn’t look up.“Don De Luca,” he mumbled, voice tight. “Just narrowing the location pings. Another sweep—”“You’ve had hours.” I moved toward him barefoot, sweat still rolling off my body after my intense boxing match. A towel was slung on my shoulders. Water dripped down my chest, catching the light, trailing across scars I earned in wars Pietro would piss himself dreaming about.I got in his space. Close enough to smell his citrus

Vittorio’s POV, At Vittorio’s Mansion“Don’t fucking touch her.”My voice split through the marble hall like a whip. Ghost had already stepped forward, fingers twitching at the sight of her lunging at me like a wild animal.But I didn’t flinch. Katarina's teeth sank into my shoulder like she wanted to rip the flesh from my bones. She was sobbing, clawing at my chest, screaming something about Mateo.Her LoverShe thought I killed him but She didn't know shit."You bastard! YOU KILLED HIM!" she screamed, pounding her fists into my chest, her nails leaving angry red lines. Her voice cracked. Raw and Broken. That sound dug into places I didn’t like to remember existed in me.I let her.Let her swing. Let her curse. Let her crumble.One punch. Two. She was weak. That hoodie barely clung to her body, soaked in sweat, blood, and dirt. Her hair stuck to her face in clumps. Her legs wobbled like a newborn fawn.But for a second, just one, when our eyes met, she froze. Her breath hitched. She

Katarina’s POV, Vittorio MansionHis hands gripped my wrists, pinning them above my head.Rope burned against my skin. My back arched off the leather seat, bare and slick with sweat. The car was dark. The windows fogged. My breath hitched as his voice rumbled against my throat.“Be still, kitten.”I was in the back of a black van again, but it wasn’t the same men. This time, it was him. Vittorio. The green-eyed devil from the club. Except he wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t furious.Vittorio. His eyes were molten green, glowing in the low light. His fingers traced the welts on my thighs, red lines from the flogger he’d just used on me. My legs trembled.His belt unbuckled with a click that sent shivers down my spine.“You don’t get to run from me,” he whispered. “You belong to me.”My moan came unbidden. Shameful. But my body didn’t I bolted upright in bed, soaked in sweat.My throat was raw from screaming.I looked around. Heavy curtains. The soft bed. The herbs still burned in the corne

Katarina’s POV, At Vittorio's BDSM Strip Club for the ElitesThe metal door slammed behind me like a gunshot. The Cold air was replaced by the thick, suffocating heat of sin. I was dumped at the back entrance of the club like trash, knees scraped, and my pride shattered, still barefoot.“Move,” one of the guards grunted, grabbing my arm.The hallway reeked of sweat, sex, and expensive cologne. The bass from the music pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat. I was shoved forward, blinking against the dizzying neon glow leaking through the cracks of the main room.A man leaned against the wall ahead, arms crossed. His Silk shirt opened halfway with Greased black hair and a Smile like a fox sizing up a dying rabbit.Brando.“So this is the Don’s little stray,” he drawled, eyes dragging down my body like he was licking it clean. “Thought you’d be taller.”I didn’t answer. My jaw clenched so tight I could taste blood.He stepped forward, circling me like a butcher eyeing prime m