Semua Bab Half a Lifetime Later—My Mafia Princess is Finally Mine: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Rino ─𖤝─ Silvio was half-slumped in my backseat, bleeding all over my leather like a crime-scene confetti, and I was humming. Some stupid tune I couldn’t even place, probably something my mother used to play when she thought I wasn’t listening. Trauma lullabies or whatever. My guy was in the backseat with him, one hand fisted in Silvio’s shirt, the other hovering near his neck in case the idiot decided to get brave and swan-dive out of the moving car. Silvio groaned behind me, weak, hoarse, the sound of someone who’d run out of pain to give but was still trying to survive out of spite. “Hold on, ragazzo,” I said, tapping the wheel. “We’re almost there. Your aunt is going to tear me apart if you die in my car and I’ve got shit to do tonight.” He didn’t answer because he was barely breathing. At least, he was alive. Hanging on out of sheer Capone stubbornness. Good enough. I sped through Chicago, humming under my breath, jaw tight with that dark, buzzing energy I got whenever I

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I sat curled into myself on the couch, legs folded under me, ankles crossed tight. My hair hung loose around my shoulders because I hadn’t bothered to fix it. I didn’t have the heart for makeup or neat ponytails or pretending everything was fine, not after watching my nephews look at me like I was a stranger. I’d been staring at the same page of the same book for, God, I didn’t even know how long. Someone walked in, and when I lifted my head and saw Adriano, my heart actually jumped. He had gone to Brazil with Madeleine to meet her family and had come home after a week but then I simply deflated. His face was unreadable, and for a second I was sure he hated me, not because he wanted to, Adriano didn’t have that kind of cruelty in him for me. But because Vincenzo’s anger had swallowed the house whole. And I know it swallowed Adriano too. I braced myself for distance and coldness but he just walked straight toward me and dropped onto the couch beside me. Before I

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I never drink. Especially not after that night... my sister-in-law’s pills, too much wine, and one stupid, blurry decision with my fiancé that blew up half my life. I swore I’d never let myself get that out of control again. And I kept that promise. Mostly. A glass here and there, something nice with dinner, champagne on New Year’s. Enough to be social, enough to feel normal. But never the bottle. I don’t touch the bottle. Which is why it felt wrong, viscerally wrong to be sitting alone in my bedroom now, legs tucked under me, staring blankly at the TV while chugging mouthful after mouthful of Château Pétrus 1989 straight from the damn thing. A wine you’re supposed to sip, admire, whisper about. I was drinking it like water. I didn’t even taste it anymore. It just burned, then numbed. For three whole days, I’d been texting my daughter and my son-in-law nonstop. I was calling, refreshing, calling again, begging for just one answer. One sign. Nothing. Of c

Rino ─𖤝─ I tried not to think about her after I hung up. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, watching the city, traffic smeared red and white across the streets. People rushed, worked, sweat, lived, died but her voice still clung to the inside of my skull. She sounded like a wounded thing pretending it wasn’t bleeding. I shouldn't have enjoyed that. I did. The office behind me echoed with occasional muffled footstep or the whisper of the central AC. My desk lay in the center of the room, black marble, sharp edges, polished enough to reflect the city lights and the veins on my hands. I turned back to my desk, the documents were neatly stacked, contracts, acquisition proposals, the façade of my “legitimate holdings.” A Lombardi-owned corporation that washed money cleaner than any priest’s hands. I traced the rim of my glass with my thumb, top-shelf bourbon, aged twenty-eight years. Strong enough to bite, but smooth enough to make the bite addictive. Her breat

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I stared down at my phone again, pulse already moving too fast for someone who hadn’t even opened a message yet. And this time, when the screen lit up with his name, I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it too quickly and opened his message before I could talk myself out of it. Unknown Number: If I were a lesser man, I’d pretend I haven’t been staring at my phone for the last two hours wondering whether you’ve ghosted me or joined a convent. Please confirm you haven’t taken a vow of silence. That would be very inconvenient for my ego. I stared at the message way longer than I meant to. I should’ve rolled my eyes. I should’ve tossed the phone face-down on the bed and acted like I didn’t care but instead… my thumb hovered over the keyboard, my pulse thudding in my throat. And my lips twitched into a smile so soft I barely recognized it as mine. Me: Tempting. A vow of silence would be easier than talking to you. I hit send before I could overthink it. Before the guilt,