Alle Kapitel von Game over. : Kapitel 61 – Kapitel 70

Michelle’s POVThe sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor carried through the lobby like a drumbeat announcing war, sharp and deliberate, every step reminding me of the fire in my chest and the fury running hot through my veins. I knew the eyes that turned toward me weren’t only drawn by recognition, though there was plenty of that, but also by curiosity, by the scent of a storm brewing around me, because news travelled fast in this city and everybody had already seen the headlines, the photographs, the smiling faces of Logan Rossi and Maddie O’Connor with two children no one had known about, two children who should never have been hidden from the world. My world. So I walked through that lobby with my head held high and my chin tilted just enough to suggest that I was untouchable, even though inside my heart was rattling against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage.Outside, beyond the glass doors, the vultures waited, photographers, gossip reporters, all those who fed

Michelle’s POVI walk to the front door of the Estate. The guards know me and let me in. My pulse is steady, but beneath it simmers the anticipation, the thrill of confrontation wrapped in the careful guise of civility. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times, every word, every gesture, every carefully measured glance. Madeline, Maddie, as Logan calls her, is in there, probably unaware that I’ve arrived, probably blissfully confident that Logan has chosen her entirely. That’s the confidence I aim to test, to crack, even just a little.I knock lightly, the sound polite and almost tentative, though every inch of me radiates control, dominance, and purpose. The door opens, and there she is, Madeline O’Connor Santora, standing in the light from the wide window, her posture impeccable, her gaze steady, her presence commanding in a way that makes the air itself seem to bend. She’s beautiful, yes, but more than that, she radiates confidence and authority. I remind myself to keep my smile measure

Marco’s POVI sit back in the chair opposite her, the glass of whiskey in my hand catching the faint glow of the bar’s low-hanging light, and I watch Michelle Morris with the kind of patience most men mistake for disinterest, but it is not disinterest, it is calculation, because everything about her, the set of her jaw, the way her eyes follow me without flinching, the deliberate calmness she wears like an expensive dress, is a test, and I already know that if I want her, if I want to bend her to my purpose, I will need to play the long game, the careful game, the game where every word is a step closer to making her believe she is in control when in truth she is already caught in my web.Michelle is beautiful, of course, but not in the way that makes me reckless or stupid, her beauty is sharp, the kind that slices if you are foolish enough to reach without thought, and I understand why Logan Rossi once looked at her with something more than passing interest, because she is not the kin

Logan’s POVThe office is quiet, the noise of the city outside barely reaching the thick walls that have heard more secrets than most people could imagine, and I stand by the window for a moment, letting my gaze drift across the skyline, before turning back to Maddie, who sits in the chair across from my desk, hands clasped tightly in her lap, the tension in her shoulders impossible to miss. I take a deep breath, steadying the words I am about to say, because there is no easing the truth, no softening it, and she deserves nothing less than the full weight of it.“Maddie,” I begin, my voice low but firm, carrying the authority that comes not just from being a Don, but from being a man who has seen what betrayal and power can do, who has walked through fire and come out unburned, “Sean, Roman, and his family, they’re gone. They will never return to America. The arrangements are in place, and the consequences are final. You won’t have to worry about them threatening our children, our fam

Marco’s POVI stride into the back room of the bar, the low whispers of conversation and clinking glasses fading behind me as the door shuts, leaving only the faint smell of cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey. My men glance at me, heads lowered, because they know what my expression means, and I don’t have to say a word for them to understand the tension coiling like a snake in the room. Every movement, every measured step I take carries authority, the weight of the Castello name pressing into the walls, reminding anyone who dares look that I am no man to be trifled with. I have spent my life building empires from the shadows, carving my place from blood and fire, and yet there is a pulse of anticipation thrumming beneath my skin tonight, a restless energy that refuses to be contained.One of my men approaches, careful, too careful, but I see the hesitation in his eyes, the tiny tremor that betrays the weight of the information he carries. He hesitates, and I do not allow the pause to