All Chapters of Owned By The Mafia King : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Milo’s POVThe rain pounded against the penthouse windows, a steady drum that matched the tension in my chest. I sat in my study, the desk lamp casting a harsh glow over the papers scattered in front of me, ledgers, contracts, and the crumpled note from last night: “Victor’s debts run deeper than you know. A new player is watching.” The words stared back at me, a threat I couldn’t ignore. Someone was coming for me, using Emilie’s father to hit where it hurt most. I’d built my empire on control, but now it felt like sand slipping through my fingers.I picked up the phone, dialing Boris, my right-hand man. “Any word on that note?” I asked, my voice sharp, cutting through the static.Boris’s voice was gruff, tired. “Got a lead. Some lowlife named Sergei, tied to Dimitri’s crew. He’s been sniffing around about Victor Moreau, asking questions in the wrong places.”My jaw tightened. Dimitri. That snake had taunted me at the meeting, calling Emilie a crack in my armor. Now he was digging

Milo’s POVThe rain hadn’t stopped, hammering the penthouse windows like it wanted to break in. I stood in my study, the phone still warm from my call with Boris, his words ringing in my ears: “Sergei’s meeting someone near Victor’s old place. It’s bad, Milo.” The note from last night, “Victor’s debts run deeper than you know. A new player is watching” sat on my desk, a taunt I couldn’t shake. Someone was out there, pulling strings, and every instinct screamed it was tied to Emilie. She’d been lying to me, hiding something since the gala, and it was eating me alive. Was it Andrew? Was she caught in his mess? Or was it worse?I rubbed my eyes, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders. The photo of Andrew as a kid, tucked back in my drawer, kept creeping into my mind. He’d been my shadow once, before this life turned us into strangers. Now he was out there, angry, maybe stupid enough to cross me. And Emilie, my wife, the girl who’d gotten under my skin, was slipping through my finge

Emilie’s POVThe penthouse felt like a prison, the walls pressing in as I paced the living room, my phone clutched in my hand. The text from earlier “You were warned. Leave now, or Victor’s blood is on your hands”, burned in my mind, making my stomach twist. I’d come back from the bar hours ago, soaked and scared, after running into Andrew and seeing that same fear in his eyes. He’d told me to go home, to tell Milo, but I couldn’t. Not after Milo grabbed my phone and saw the text, his face turning hard, his voice promising to fix it. “We’re not done,” he’d said before storming out to some warehouse, leaving me here with two of his men at the door, watching my every move.The rain was still falling, a steady roar outside, but it couldn’t drown out my thoughts. Andrew was out there, doing something stupid, just like Zoya warned. And Milo was chasing answers about my dad’s debts, about some guy named Sergei and a new player, Viktorov. I’d heard him on the phone, his voice cold, angry,

Emilie’s POV:The car’s tires hummed on the wet road, the rain still pounding outside as we sped through the city. I sat in the backseat, squeezed between Andrew and the door, my heart racing from the chaos at the warehouse. Milo was in the front, his face hard as stone, his gun resting on his lap. Irina sat beside him, her hands tied, her usual smirk gone. Boris drove, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, like he was waiting for trouble to follow us. The air was thick with tension, and I could barely breathe, my mind spinning from everything, Irina’s betrayal, Andrew’s gunfight, the text about my dad’s life.I glanced at Andrew, his face was pale, his hands still tight around his gun. He’d saved me back there, firing at those men to protect me, but his eyes were dark, angry, like he was ready to explode. I wanted to say something, to thank him or ask what he was thinking, but Milo’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You okay?” he asked, not turning around, his voice low but shar

Milo’s POVThe safehouse smelled like damp wood and antiseptic, a cramped apartment tucked in the city’s edge where no one would look. Victor lay on a cot in the corner, his face gray, his breathing shallow. Emilie knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she held a wet cloth to his forehead, her eyes red from crying. Andrew sat across the room, his arm bandaged where a bullet had grazed him, his face pale but hard, like he was ready to fight again. Boris was outside, guarding the door, his gun ready for any sign of Viktorov’s men. The rain still pounded the windows, a reminder that we weren’t safe, not after the factory, not after Irina’s betrayal.I stood by the door, my gun in my hand, my mind racing. Victor was alive, but barely, his bruises and cuts telling a story of Viktorov’s cruelty. Irina’s words from the warehouse“He’s coming for you, and your precious wife won’t save you” kept echoing in my head, mixing with the note I’d gotten weeks ago: “Victor’s debts run deeper than