All Chapters of Claimed by My Brother’s Best Friend (A Mafia Romance): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ISABELLA“You’ve signed yourself to me now,” he said, voice low and poisonous, like a silk rope tightening around my throat. “And there are consequences for disobedience.”He stepped closer.The chandelier light dimmed behind his frame, casting a long shadow that swallowed me whole. My spine hit the wall with a soft thud. His presence was a force his body blocking air, light, space. His eyes pinned mine like blades made of fire.This was it.I’d sold myself to the devil.He leaned down, lips brushing my ear.“Let’s play a game,” he whispered.My heart stuttered.Those words. I’d heard them before years ago. My brother used to say the same thing when he wanted to test my patience or push me too far. And it never ended well. But this? This wasn’t a sibling teasing me.This was Damian.This was a predator.A tear slipped down my cheek. “I’m not interested,” I said, barely louder than a breath, hoping he’d hear the plea in my voice and… stop.But instead, he smiled.That cold, knowing smi

ISABELLA"You scared her, Isa."The voice sliced through the kitchen like a blade against glass.I froze.No one else was supposed to be here.I turned slowly, pulse pounding against my ribs like fists on a door.And then I saw him.Matteo.Alive.Standing there like some dark angel pulled from my past. A lazy smile curved his lips as he walked toward the kitchen island and poured himself a glass of wine, like he belonged here. Like he hadn’t faked his death. Like we hadn’t buried him.I stared, throat dry, legs suddenly weak beneath me.He took a sip and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually surprised to see me.”The glass trembled in his hand, or maybe that was just me seeing things. My mind spun, desperately trying to catch up with my eyes. I glanced at the woman by the stove. She was still cooking, calmly, like this was all normal.I stepped closer and lightly tapped her arm. “Is there someone else here with us… or am I… seeing things?”She looked at me confused, almos

ISABELLA His presence blanketed the room before his voice even reached me. “Come down from that damn bed.” It wasn’t a shout it didn’t need to be. His tone was low, razor-sharp, cutting through the silence like broken glass under bare feet. I didn’t have to look to know it was him. Damian. The air told me first thick with heat, with control, with a scent I knew too well: musk and power and something more dangerous underneath. I turned my head slowly. He stood beside the bed, clos too close. His hair was slightly mussed, the knot of his tie yanked loose, and the collar of his shirt open just enough to see the tight coil in his throat. His suit jacket hung off one shoulder like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it after storming in. The wild look in his eyes wasn’t anger. It was something colder. Something that didn’t need to shout to be terrifying. “Now,” he said again. I gripped the blanket around me like it could shield me. Like it could make me disappear. My legs wouldn’t

DAMIAN “You’re back so soon, brother,” his voice low and steady, though every muscle in my jaw tensed. ( Tu es déjà de retour, frère.) I stepped into my room, peeling off my jacket when I heard his voice Matteo’s voice. Smooth. Ironic. Laced with mockery. A smirk tugged at my lips. I had a feeling he’d show up eventually… but not tonight. My eyes found him lounging in my study area like he owned it. Legs crossed on my desk my desk one hand lazily flipping a knife between his fingers. He knew that irritated me. That was the point. “Nice to see you, Matteo,” I said coolly. He glanced up, his grin widening. “You don’t tell me you’ve made Isa your new pet. Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.” His eyes gleamed with something darker. “Or was that the plan all along? Send me to France just so you could cozy up to her?” He stood, knife twirling in his hand, and crossed the space between us. “Or better yet,” he added, tone dropping to a whisper, “kill her family and keep he

DAMIAN The boardroom was dim, quiet, and soaked in tension the kind I thrived in. My men sat in a straight line across the polished table, each one focused, each one knowing what was at stake. I was mid-sentence, laying down strategy, when a figure leaned close to my chair. ““Sir… a waitress. She says she has something to tell you.” My jaw ticked. A waitress interrupting my meeting? Bold. “And what exactly does she want?” I asked coldly, eyes still fixed on the table before me. “It’s about your woman,” he replied. My gaze sharpened, and silence rippled through the room like a knife cutting water. I gave a slow, dangerous smirk. Isa. Of course. “Send her in,” I said. Moments later, the door creaked open like a spine bending under pressure. The waitress stepped in young, barely more than a girl, shoulders hunched like she could fold into herself and disappear. Her hands fisted the hem of her skirt so tightly, the fabric trembled with her. Her lips parted, but the word