All Chapters of The Mafia's pet: Chapter 11 - Chapter 18

The night air was laced with thick music and the scent of alcohol as Lorenzo stepped into the club. Neon lights danced off glass walls, and the bass pulsed like a second heartbeat. To everyone watching, he was just another well-dressed man here to blow off steam. No one would guess that he was the quiet, calculated co-owner of a business empire. And that's just how Lorenzo liked it. Raphael had always seen him as the level-headed one, the calm architect of their growing empire. He thought Lorenzo went home after meetings, studied investment papers, and slept early. But truthfully, nights like these were Lorenzo's escape. Here, he could let go—ditch the suits, the composure, the responsibilities. Here, no one called him "boss." He settled at the bar, eyes scanning the crowd with the air of someone who believed the world owed him attention. A girl in a scarlet dress caught his gaze. Alone, sipping something strong, with an aura that dared anyone to approach. Lorenzo smirked and swa

Raphael sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tangled in his hair, staring blankly ahead. He couldn’t believe it, him, shaken, over a dream. A dream where Martha had died in his arms.It shouldn’t have gotten to him. He wasn’t built for softness, not sadness. He was meant to be in control, always. But something about that dream had cracked something inside. A part of him still hadn’t recovered.“Is this what Alessia meant by ‘hold on to her’?”He smacked his hand against the bedpost and got to his feet, hoping the heaviness would fade. But it remained.The next morning, Martha sat in the kitchen, both hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. She looked up, her voice calm but firm. “I want to go home today.”She expected him to fight it. To tell her no, or lock the door again. But instead, Raphael just looked at her and nodded. “Alright. I’ll have someone drive you.”She stared at him, confused. That was it? No argument? No guilt-trip?He didn’t say another word, he just turned and walked

The cold winds of change blew steadily through Raphael’s company, no longer just a whisper but a howling reminder that something vital was slipping through the cracks. What had once been a fortress of innovation and loyalty was now teetering on the edge of betrayal.Lorenzo, once a pillar of unwavering support, had begun the slow, methodical dismantling of the empire his brother had built from blood and brilliance. Under Martin’s iron grip, he became both a pawn and a saboteur — feeding confidential data to their rival while carefully planting distrust among the senior executives. Every meeting he attended became a performance; every conversation, a transaction. Each decision now carried the bitter weight of guilt, and each lie etched new lines into his face.Martin, ever the tactician, sat comfortably behind the curtain of chaos. His enterprise, once overshadowed and dismissed, now surged ahead with ferocious momentum. With Raphael’s internal structure quietly crumbling, Martin’s fir

Martha stood across from Lorenzo in the estate’s long hallway. He had just returned from a night out, his suit jacket hanging loosely over one shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and something cold, and sharp stared back at her.She froze.“Martha? What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone casual, almost too casual.She didn’t answer right away. She had seen it, flashes, not of her own making. Jess. The fear in her eyes. The sudden blow. The lifeless fall. It was all there, sitting in Lorenzo’s gaze like an unspoken confession.Later, when they crossed paths again in the garden, she spoke first. “Secrecy leads to blackmail,” she said quietly. “And the worst part of it is that nothing stays hidden forever.”Lorenzo’s jaw twitched, but he kept his composure. “You’ve been talking to people, haven’t you?”“I don’t need to,” she replied. “Your eyes did the talking.”He stared at her for a long moment, then turned away. He didn’t want this conversation, not with her. Not with anyone.Detective Jame