All Chapters of The Mafia Boss's Obsession : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Misha's POVIn my study, seated. I watched Luna through the CCTV feed, her fragile form curled on the couch in her wing. I had moved her closer. into my part of the house—since I brought her back from Colombia. But still, we didn’t stay in the same room. Not yet.A blanket was draped over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed with fever. The illness had come on fast yesterday, sudden and burning, her voice weak but still razor-sharp as I carried her to bed: “I don’t need your help, Misha.” But she did. She always did. And I couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t stop the way something inside me clawed toward her—this desperate need to protect, to fix what I’d shattered.It wasn’t just a fever. Not really. Her body was still recovering from the beating it took when she fought off Chernov’s men in that alley, the bruises along her ribs, the split lip, the way she’d hidden her pain until her body finally gave out. I should’ve been there. I should’ve kept her from ever having to lift a finger, much

Luna's POVThey moved toward me, two of them.But I didn’t freeze.I reached down fast, fingers curling around a jagged shard of glass from the floor. As one man grabbed my arm, I drove it into Chernov’s bicep, the blade biting deep. He roared, staggering back as blood sprayed.I kicked over the barrel beside us, oil spilling fast across the floor.They hesitated.I didn’t.A match from my coat pocket flared to life, then dropped.Flames rushed like vengeance.Smoke. Screams. Chaos.I ran, my heart pounding, a match in my pocket flaring to life as I tossed it, the flames erupting in a roar, a diversion that sent Chernov’s men scattering, their shouts lost in the chaos. I fled, my legs burning, my breath ragged, the warehouse a maze of fire and shadow as I escaped, my hands shaking, my mind a storm of fear and defiance.I ran. Not away, through. Through fire, through smoke, through the nightmare I’d willingly walked into for the girl I couldn’t stop protecting. The flames clawed at the

Luna's POV Last night still clung to my skin like the faint trace of his cologne.He’d ruined me with every calculated touch, tasting me, tormenting me, using my body like it belonged to him.Sofia stood behind me, her fingers deftly weaving my hair into an intricate braid. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized—eyes smoldering with defiance, lips painted a bold crimson, and a red silk dress that clung to every curve.“Are you sure about this dress?” Sofia asked, concern etched on her face.I met her gaze in the mirror. “I want them to see me. To remember me.”She sighed, smoothing the fabric over my hips. “Misha had a different dress in mind.”“Misha isn’t here,” I replied, my tone firm.Sofia hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. But be cautious. The Bratva banquet is no ordinary gathering.”I turned to face her. “Any news on Gabriella?”Her expression darkened. “Still missing. Misha’s men are searching, but leads are scarce.”A knot tightened in my stomach. “I can’t sit id

Luna's POV The red silk was gone. Torn from my shoulders by Misha’s knife, it now hung awkwardly around my waist, clumsily gathered beneath his jacket. He’d wrapped it around me after, muttering something possessive, almost gentle, but his eyes were still wild—dark with the kind of madness that promised ruin if anyone touched me again.My heels clicked on the marble as we walked back into the ballroom. My legs were unsteady, and the burn of his grip still lingered on my hips. I’d tried to clean myself up in the shadows of the hallway mirror, smoothed my hair, fixed my lipstick with trembling fingers, but nothing could hide the mess we’d made of each other.Eyes turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. I felt every stare like heat on my skin.Misha didn’t care.He moved with calm dominance, his expression unreadable, one hand possessively resting on my lower back as if daring anyone to speak. If they noticed my ruined dress, the faint red line the knife had left across my collarbon

Luna's POV Chernov writhed, cursing through clenched teeth as two guards rushed forward to help him. He shoved them off, refusing the weakness, but his blood was already staining the hem of his custom Odessa-tailored suit.I felt every eye on me.Whispers curled like smoke through the air.“He stabbed him—”“He would never become Packhan this way—”“The Odessa will wage endless war for this humiliation.”“Just because he touched his wife’s hair?”But I didn’t step back.I stepped forward.And when Misha turned to look at me, I met his gaze without blinking.A hush fell heavier. His actions had weight.Not just among us. But among the Bratva heads. Their wives. Their sons.And yet I didn’t lower my gaze.I walked toward him, heels clicking against the marble like a challenge, and reached for the hand still holding the blade.I pressed my fingers over his knuckles, careful of the blood. Of what he’d done.Of what it meant.“Misha,” I said quietly, for him alone. “If you keep bleeding t