All Chapters of Falling For The Mafia Boss: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Raven’s POV The butcher’s shop was closed for good. I had left the sign on the door in Czech, but the message was universal: stay away! Matteo didn’t even bother to ask any questions. He just sat since he had no guards, or gun. Just a folder and that ring still on the table from last night, untouched. “I thought you’d burn it,” he said. “I was tempted to,” I said. “But it feels wrong to destroy something that tried so hard to destroy us first.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thread carefully now, you don't wanna sound like my therapist.” “You had a therapist?” “For one session, he tried to analyze Tito.” “What happened?” “I made him cry.” We both laughed. Like fools like orphans who'd turned war into a personality trait. Then we went quiet. The way ghosts do when someone remembers them too loudly. He then placed the folder in front of me. “Final names the ones still operating. The ones who think the Circle’s only dormant, not dead.” “Why bring t

Raven’s POV The boat creaked like it knew secrets.Matteo was asleep, arms folded under his head like a soldier. The sea was unusually still. No guilt in its currents, just glass.My name was never Raven, that truth sat in my bones like frost. It was uncomfortable but yet so familiar. I’d carried colder things.Sylvie.It felt like a name someone gave to a child they planned to love. Not one they planned to train.I whispered it once into the wind but I got no response.We docked in Malta. Such a quiet city,there were no shadows thick enough for spies. No cameras twitching like nerves. Just heat and old bricks which made me like it.Matteo rented us a flat above a flower shop. I chose the room with no windows. He didn’t ask why as he already knew.I spent a week in silence.Matteo ran all the errands,answered messages. Burned the last of Tito’s codes.Franca stopped checking in on us, finally the world wasn’t watching anymore. So I watched myself.I’d never done that before, not with

Raven’s POV There’s a sound doors make when they’ve been opened too many times.Not creaking,more like a sigh.The front door of the flat made that sound today. It had been silent for months. And now, it was sighing. Again.I put down the knifenot the kind that lives in my waistband, just one I was using to chop garlic and listened.Three footsteps,then a familiar cough.Franca,of course.She didn’t knock,she never had…she just walked into rooms like she’d always belonged there and left people figuring out whether or not they wanted to shoot her for it.She stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses that cost more than the rent and a trench coat that looked vaguely stolen.“You’re not dead,” she said.“You’re not blind,” I replied.She smirked. “Glad to see domestic life hasn’t made you soft.”Brio ran up to her, tail wagging.“Betrayer,” I muttered.Franca knelt and scratched behind his ears. “At least someone in this house missed me.”Matteo arrived five minutes later. He had a bag o

Matteo’s POV There’s a rhythm to quiet lives a gentle beat between routines. You wake, you breathe, you eat. You pretend your hands never touched triggers or dossiers or the last breath of someone who didn’t duck fast enough. You pick herbs, you fix chairs while also teaching a kid how to make pancakes without weaponizing the stove. And if you’re lucky very lucky you tend to forget how heavy doors used to feel. I used to count exits in every room,now I forget to lock the front door. Progress?....maybe. Or maybe I just trust the kid to bark loud enough for both of us. Raven says I mumble more now which she likes, saying it makes me sound like a farmer. Elias calls me “The Whisperer.” Claims it’s mysterious while I call it peace although I still keep a hammer by the fridge, not for intruders but for repairs. Elias started a new project, A map….not of cities or roads but of us. One dot for where Raven found him One dot for where Brio was nearly arrested for barking at

Raven’s POV It rained for four days straight,it wasn't a soft drizzle or the cinematic kind. Just sky-emptying, bone-saturating rain that made the walls weep and the pipes hum like dying monks.Brio hated it as he refused to go outside. He stared at the door like it had betrayed him.Elias loved it,he said the sky was finally being honest.Matteo tolerated it, saying it was good for the basil.I watched the water crawl down the window and wondered if healing had a sound. Maybe it was this.Maybe it was thunder that didn’t feel like a warning. Franca was still here,kind of. She’d taken the upstairs room the one we never painted. Claimed it helped her stay unattached.We let her because attachment was something we’d learned to ask for, not assume.She never said why she came back.But every time Elias asked her a question, she answered like someone who’d never left.We started eating dinner later,more laughsin between,more interruptions,more hands reaching for salt and stories.And El