All Chapters of The Mafia Kings Plaything : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Katarina POV inside a shipping container, held hostage "What’s this?" Giordano asked, picking up the red bracelet off the floor. It looked so small in his large, greedy hands. Like a thread barely holding my world together.Cherie grinned like a cat who’d eaten the whole cage. "Fell off one of Vittorio’s shooters during the scuffle. Looked pretty, so I took it."I froze. My heart thudded like thunder in my ears. No.Giordano lifted it to the light. "Looks cheap. Why do you care so much, sweetheart?"He looked right at me. That same cruel smirk. Then—snap.He tore it. “No!” I lunged forward — too slow. The rope yanked me back. Snap. The sound of the bracelet breaking was louder than a gunshot in my chest.Red beads were scattered across the dirty floor like spilled blood. One bounced and rolled until it hit my boot.It felt like something in me broke. I didn’t scream. I didn’t move. But I felt it all. Aunt Malva had given me that bracelet. Said it would protect me. Said it meant som

Selena POV: At Her House, Trying To Bring Out The Other Side Of LiamI didn’t sleep the night before. My body was tired, but my mind was wired, circling around Liam. Or Ash. Or whoever the hell lived inside that boy’s head.Ash said he knew where Katarina was. But he never lasted long. Just a flicker. A shadow. And then he was gone.So I did research. Looked up everything I could find on Dissociative Identity Disorder. Triggers. Grounding techniques. How to summon alters, how not to break them. I wasn’t a damn therapist, but I was desperate.The plan had too many cracks and too many ways to get me killed. But I didn’t care. If there was even a one percent chance that Liam—whatever version of Liam—knew where Katarina was, I had to try.So I set it all up. The room was warm, quiet, and locked. I placed the taser beside me on the couch, hidden but ready. Just in case.“Hey, Sel,” Liam said, walking in with that nervous smile. “You okay?”God. He looked so normal. Hoodie half-zipped, jea

Katarina POV Inside The Shipping Container On Sea This Time“Don’t you fucking die on me.”My voice cracked. My hands were shaking, pressed against Maribel’s shoulder. She was breathing. Barely. Her head lolled back, mouth dry, lips cracked like old pavement.“Hey,” I whispered, slapping her cheek lightly. “Wake up. Come on, don’t do this. I need someone to be miserable with.”She groaned. One eye blinked open.“God,” she croaked. “You’re still here.”“Yeah, lucky you. Your cellmate’s got bad breath and a worse attitude.”The floor of the container rocked beneath us again. Salt air seeped in through the rusted vents. It smelled like wet iron and sea rot. Like the ocean was trying to swallow us whole.I leaned back against the cold wall, staring at the ceiling.“Still moving,” I muttered.The chains around my wrists clanked as I shifted. My ankles ached. Every muscle felt like I’d been dragged across concrete.“How long’ve we been at sea?” I asked.Maribel coughed weakly. “I stopped co

Vittorio POV At The DeLuca Mansion“Get. Out.”I didn’t whisper it. I didn’t scream it. I said it like a sentence.The moans from my bedroom were getting louder.My boots slammed down the marble hallway, the cane tapping beside me like a ticking bomb. I could hear the thud of skin on skin. A woman’s breathless gasp. Wet slaps. A man's low growl.My brother’s growl.The twin who vanished after Fiorella died. The bastard who left me alone to drown in the wreckage of her loss.And now?Valentino was back.Fucking some long-legged brunette on my sheets.My sheets.I kicked the door open so hard the knob smashed into the wall.I grabbed the lamp and hurled it. It shattered against the wall, missing his skull by an inch.“You’re in my bed!” I roared. “My fucking bed, Tino!”“Vit!” he called out, grinning like he’d just walked into a bar, not my goddamn bedroom. “You’re early.” The woman didn’t stop. Neither did he.Her head was thrown back, mouth wide. He had her from behind, one hand o

Katarina POV: A hostage at Giordano's villaI hadn’t seen Maribel in days.Not a sound. Not a scream. Not a whisper through the vents. Just silence. That sick, suffocating kind that crawled under your skin and stayed.I was curled on the cold tile floor, back pressed to the bed frame. The room smelled like stale perfume and disinfectant. My wrists were raw from being yanked around. My lips cracked. My knees ached.Maribel could be dead. And maybe that would be my fault, too.I swallowed hard. “No. Not again.”“She’s dead,” I whispered, staring at the ceiling. “And it’s my fault.”I had to get out. Before they buried me alive with her.That night, the hallway light clicked on—soft and low. The knock came softly. Then the door clicked open. That guard. The one with the twitchy hands. The one who looked at my shoulder like it meant something and flinched when I spoke. He always left my food tray angled toward the wall, like he didn’t want to see me suffer.“You said you wanted out,” h