The Lord Of Chaos: A Forced Marriage のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

Fabrizio didn’t back down. He touched the corner of his mouth, tasted the metallic tang of blood, and locked eyes with Vincenzo, rage burning.His hand drifted to his gun, slow but heavy with intent, and Vincenzo tracked every inch of the motion, eyes steady, already reading the fight before it started.“What’s your plan, Fabrizio?” Vincenzo asked, voice flat. “Draw that piece only if you’re ready to kill me. Anything less, and you’re signing your death warrant.”“You crossed the line, you bastard,” Fabrizio roared, eyes blazing as they bored into Vincenzo.No answer needed. Fabrizio lunged, fingers digging into Vincenzo’s collar, spinning him hard and slamming him against the wall.The crash echoed through the interrogation room, but Vincenzo didn’t falter. He recovered quickly and charged his cousin.They collided in blind fury, fists cracking through the air like wild animals fighting for territory in a place with no rules.“I’ll kill you, you bastard, figlio di puttana,” Fabrizio

That decision didn’t shock Fabrizio alone. Tommaso, too, seemed taken aback, his lips parting for the briefest moment as though a question were about to escape. Yet his cautious gaze sweeping the room—and the awareness of the place he occupied—restrained any impulse to speak.Vincenzo, fully aware of every reaction and satisfied by the absence of resistance, rose calmly. He didn’t need final words; he crossed the hall with the authority of a man who didn’t argue orders—he imposed them—ending, with the weight of his presence alone, any chance of dispute.Tommaso extended a hand toward his brother, a restrained gesture of respect or perhaps reconciliation, but Fabrizio refused it, standing abruptly, driven by the fury he could no longer conceal.The surrounding gazes pierced him with the sharp precision of silent judgment—cold, attentive, inescapable—and in that instant, hatred took root deeper than before, fed by the certainty that everyone had just witnessed the moment he bowed.'All

Vittoria’s throat went dry instantly, as if punishing her simply for daring to utter those words.“Principessa, shall we have lunch tomorrow?” Alfonso suggested, his voice was far too gentle, rehearsed, and artificial; it failed to convince even himself.“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, papà.” Vittoria replied at once, especially now that she could finally see the truth she had always tried to avoid.“Cosa sta succedendo, figlia?” He asked in a calm, almost paternal tone.“Nothing is happening, papà.” She answered, turning back to the stove and taking the sauce off the heat. “I’ve just been very busy lately.”“Busy with what, Vittoria?” He pressed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The predictable routine of a housewife?” Alfonso continued, as if incapable of imagining a woman in any other role.“I’ve fulfilled my purpose, haven’t I?” She shot back, a crooked smile curving her lips. “I spent my whole life being trained for this—the mafia’s porcelain doll, ready to smile, marry, and st

Fabrizio’s gaze narrowed instantly, tracing every detail of Seraphina’s body wrapped in a dress far too daring for the occasion.The fabric clung to her curves with perfect precision, while the generous neckline framed her breasts in a way that was almost provocative—like a silent invitation meant for him alone.“What are you doing here, Miss Whitmore?” Fabrizio asked, his voice low and measured, though his eyes remained fixed on her provocative presence.“I came to thank you,” Seraphina said, her tone soft and alluring as she moved closer, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between them. “Tommaso told me you didn’t hesitate to punish the traitor.” She continued, a suggestive smile curving her lips as she placed a hand over his chest. “I admire men who take action.”Fabrizio didn’t flinch or pull away; he stood still—but not indifferent, allowing her hand to rest against his chest as though silently indulging the boldness of her approach.“I was only doing my job,” Fabrizio r

Antonella managed to sit up with effort, her body trembling under the violent sting of pain burning across her face.Her screams broke into muffled sobs as her trembling hand reached for the wound, warm blood slipping between her fingers.“Maledetta!” Antonella cried, her voice cracking between choked sobs that tore at her throat. “Puttana schifosa!”“Take good care of your wounds, Barbie,” Seraphina advised, every word dripping with sarcasm as she made her way toward the door.As she walked away, Seraphina placed the scalpel on the metal tray, and the sharp sound of metal marked her departure.“I’ll be back to open new ones whenever I feel like it,” Seraphina declared, her hand tightening on the door handle.Before she opened it, she turned back to Antonella, her smile curling wider in pure malice.“Oh, and by the way—recover quickly, so you can have a front-row seat while I seduce your secondhand husband.”And, without granting the slightest chance for a reply, Seraphina swung the d