All Chapters of My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEThe moment Dante stepped into the bathroom, I picked up his phone from the dresser, cool and casual. My own device was hidden under a folded scarf in the drawer, locked, untraceable.I typed only three words.Clean it up.No names. No location. They’d know. My men were always watching.The message delivered, I slid the phone back in place and waited.Barefoot, I stood still. Silent. Listening.Then, barely a few minutes later, I heard it. The rustle. A faint thud. A low murmur muffled by glass and stone. Quick hands. No panic. They were professionals. Mine.It was done.I moved toward the bathroom.Steam clouded the mirrors. The sound of water slamming against tile filled the air.Dante stood under the spray, back to me. Soaked. Staring straight ahead.Frozen.Still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.I stepped in without

DANTE’S PERSPECTIVEGalleria di LuceFlorenceFive goddamn months of back and forth. Of pretty lies. Of delays dressed up as negotiations. All so this greasy bastard could convince himself he still held the reins.I let him.Because real power isn’t loud. It waits. Builds. Then tightens when they least expect it.I walked into Rossetti’s gallery like I already owned the fucking place.Didn’t greet him.Didn’t sit.Just stared at him where he lounged behind his desk, trying too hard to look relaxed. The kind of relaxed only men who think they’ve won dare to pretend.“Lucchese,” he drawled, sipping something amber. “Back so soon?”“Let’s skip the foreplay,” I said. “You’ve had my offer for a week.”He smiled, spreading his hands like a man with time to waste. “It’s generous. But the gallery has… history. Clients. Influence.”“And rot,” I snapped. “The floorboards are bleedin

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVEThe past few weeks blurred into paint samples, floor plans, and late-night Pinterest boards. I was constantly on my feet. Sweeping. Re-measuring. Adjusting the lighting to find the softest glow.This place, my place, was finally taking shape.Luca parked out front again today. He never complained, even though I dragged him from hardware stores to plant nurseries to antique shops where the air smelled like mothballs and forgotten dreams.“Be honest,” I said as we stepped inside the shop. “Is the ivy too much?”He followed my gaze up the wall where vines snuck up along the old brick like fingers. “It’s charming,” he said, brushing dust from a crate. “But it kinda looks like it’s alive. Like it’ll eat someone.”I laughed. “That’s the point. I want it to feel like a secret garden. Something you stumble into, not a polished chain store.”He gave a little smile, stepping over a roll of carpet I hadn’t la

CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE By morning, I couldn’t move. The ache was deep. Bone-deep. I laid there in the sheets that smelled like him, my body still sticky with sweat and stained with his cum. Every muscle screamed when I shifted. My thighs trembled when I tried to close them. So I didn’t. I stayed still. Eyes open, breathing slow, like any sudden movement would shatter something inside me. The bruises, they were darker now. Fresh ones layered over old. A storm of purples and fading blues decorated the softest parts of me. My hips, my ribs, the inside of my thighs. My neck bore the worst of it. Angry prints where his hand had clutched me too tightly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold me or destroy me. I pressed a finger gently to one of them and hissed. Still raw. Still his.

DANTE'S PERSPECTIVE She fucking owned me. And the worst part? I let her. I didn’t stop her when she lead me down on that narrow bed. Didn’t snarl. Didn’t flip her over and drive myself in the way I always did. I just watched her. Watched the way she unzipped her pants, also mine, and crawled on top of me, her thighs straddling my hips, warm and trembling. I felt the heat of her pussy press right against me. Through my restraint. She grinded once, slow, firm. And I twitched so hard I almost came undone like a fucking teenager. Her palms pressed on my chest underneath my shirt, soft fingers tracing the scars she never asked about. Her eyes never left mine, not even when she slid her hand between us, unfastened me, wrapped her fingers around me. I hissed. She smiled. And then sh