All Chapters of The Mafia Kings Plaything : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Giordano’s POV“Say that again,” I said, loading a clip into my Glock real slow.Scarface stood across the desk, sweaty, twitching. “The boy… he failed. Vittorio got him. I had to kill him before he talked.” He was stiff as a corpse. His scar twitched every time his jaw clenched. He knew what this was.My finger paused on the slide. Click. “You mean to tell me,” I said calmly, “you gave a drunk crackhead a job I trusted you with?”Scarface opened his mouth. “I thought—”“Don’t think.” I stood. My voice dropped cold. “You think when I give you permission to think?” “I I'm sorry, Boss. I didn’t wanna expose myself.” “I trusted you with one thing,” I said, sipping slowly. “One. Fucking. Thing.”“I’ll fix it,” he said quickly. “I’ve got a backup plan.”“Oh, I know you do,” I said. Then I stood. “Come on. Let’s go shoot something. Clear our heads.”I smiled. Real soft. “Let’s go see how your balls handle a loaded barrel.” Get in the car.”His throat bobbed. “Sir?”“The range. You love th

Vittorio’s POV At The Top Floor Of A Luxurious Hotel“Just smile and shake hands,” Salvatore whispered at my side. “That’s all you gotta do. Show face. Say a few pretty words. These bastards eat it up.”I didn’t answer. “Try not to look like you’d rather shoot someone.” Salvatore whispered behind his fake-ass grin as another senator’s daughter floated over in sequins and desperation.“I’d rather shoot myself,” I muttered, sipping the whiskey I wasn’t enjoying.We were in some overpriced hotel ballroom, all crystal chandeliers and expensive perfume. Every politician in the province was packed in, shaking hands with one palm and hiding a knife in the other. I hated these events. But Salvatore insisted.“You want the mayor’s chair?” he’d said earlier. “You gotta dance with snakes.”Yeah. And maybe strangle one or two.“You’re the most eligible bachelor in the damn country,” Salvatore kept whispering. “Play it right, you’ll be mayor next year.”“I don’t need to be mayor,” I said flat. “

Katarina’s POV“Fuck this,” I muttered, slipping the razor into my boot.My hands were shaking, but not from fear. From rage. From knowing I almost died in my sleep, and no one cared. If Maribel hadn’t done whatever she did, I’d be the body getting dragged out in a sheet.I wasn’t gonna wait around to be next.I had to think. Plan. Play the game. Survival first—always.I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror in the girls’ dressing room. My face looked pale, and my eyes were red.Tears hit the sink. Fast. Silent. I wiped them quickly. “Get it together,” I whispered. “I slid the razor deeper into my shoe. Just in case. A girl needed insurance.I tugged my cheap blouse straight, ran my fingers through my knotted hair, and walked out. My boots felt heavier. Or maybe that was just my gut.I headed for Brando’s office. Time to fake it. Submission. Obedience. Whatever the fuck would get me out of this place alive. I’d beg if I had to. Play broken. Let them believe they won.Because

Selena’s POV“Shit,” I muttered, kicking the door again Not hard enough to break it just enough to feel something. “Open up, It’s Selena.”It was locked.The hell?I tried the handle again. Nothing. LockedI knew something was off the second I stepped on the porch.Katarina’s front door was locked. Not fake-locked. Actually locked. No crowbar marks. No busted handle. No bloody handprints. Just… normal.Last time I was here, the door had been wide open, gaping, like the house was screaming. The house was trashed. Her mom was drooling nonsense on the couch.Now?It looked like nothing happened here. Nothing.Not even a cough from her mom. Not the usual TV blaring or weird gibberish about fires.I stepped back, hands on my hips, scanning the little porch. I circled the house, checked the backyard, peeked through the kitchen window. The curtains were drawn, but not tightly. I squinted.The living room was spotless.“What the—”I found the loose window, pushed it up, and slipped in quietl

Giordano’s POV“Do something!”His voice thundered through the white hallway like a bomb.“DO SOMETHING, GODDAMMIT!”The doctor flinched but kept working. Mask on, gloves bloody, eyes panicked.Giordano stood by the hospital bed, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. The little body on the bed, his son, jerked again. A cough ripped through the boy’s chest.More blood.More red on the sheets.“Papa…” the boy whimpered. “It hurts…”Giordano’s whole body snapped. He grabbed the edge of the bed, breathing hard. “I know, bambino. I know.”The boy was five. Just five.Didn’t even know how to tie his shoes right. Still used the wrong fork. Still had nightmares about shadows under the bed. Still smiled like he thought the world was good.Now he was choking on his own lungs.The machine beeped faster. Louder. Then flatlined for a second.Giordano lunged forward. “Get it BACK UP!”The doctor shouted for meds. A nurse rushed in with adrenaline. The boy twitched again. Barely.His