Lahat ng Kabanata ng Half a Lifetime Later—My Mafia Princess is Finally Mine: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ Age 42 | Orphans Benevolenza Society Fundraiser | Chicago, IL I smoothed the sleeve of my pale blue silk gown for what felt like the tenth time tonight. The fabric was soft, expensive, perfect, exactly what everyone expected me to look like but I don't know why I wasn't comfortable. I sat at the table with my nephews on either side of me. The room was filled with chatter, people pretending to care about orphans while mentally calculating their tax breaks. A donor walked by like he was trying to memorize the shape of my face. I gave him a polite smile, warm enough to be charming and cold enough to mean nothing. As soon as he moved on, I wrapped my fingers around my wine glass, letting myself breathe. The stem was cool against my skin. I took a slow sip, letting the dry bite settle on my tongue. Adriano had shown up with… her. His friend? His girlfriend? Something more? I couldn’t tell yet, but whatever she was, she clearly mattered to him. More than any girl I’d

Rino ─𖤝─ Il Segreto. The Capones loved calling it “neutral ground,” but what they didn’t know was that I already owned the place three layers deep through a shell liquor import company that didn’t exist on paper. Technically, it was “managed” by a retired jazz musician with dementia, fronted by a hospitality group in Dubai that had never stepped foot in the U.S., and bankrolled by a silent investor who’d been dead for nine years. Not a single trail pointing back to me, just the way I liked it. So while the Capones strutted around, pretending this old speakeasy was neutral, I sat there knowing every brick, every camera, every bottle, every man on the payroll was mine and they were negotiating on my carpet without even realizing it. I leaned back in my chair, letting the dim lights catch on the colour of my suit. Midnight charcoal, tailored within an inch of perfection. Unlike the Capones’ favorite funeral-black uniforms. Fuck, they were predictable. Men crowded the walls, my m

Rino ─𖤝─ The car rumbled forward, city lights dragging across the windows in long, broken streaks. I rubbed a hand over my face, dragging my palm down my mouth. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, but it didn’t go away. The knot. The fire. The truth. Remo was right. And he wasn’t. I didn’t love her, at least not in the way people romanticized the word. I didn’t know the rules of that kind of love. I didn’t speak that language. Hell, every time I’d gotten close to someone, I ended up breaking them or burying them. But Alessia… There had always been something about her. Even when I was sixteen and stupid, she was the one thing I wanted without understanding why. And then she was gone. Taken. Stolen. And suddenly she wasn’t mine. But I had wanted her like she was air and I’d been drowning. I wanted her in a way that made no sense, in a way that burned through every reasonable part of me until all that was left was something violent. Maybe that was love, maybe it was

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ Silvio. Even thinking his name felt like someone pressing a hand over my mouth and stealing the little air I had left. Silvio was gone... taken and not by strangers, not by fate, not by some cruel twist of the universe. The Lombardis had him. And the moment I heard it, something inside me cracked open in the ugliest way. I couldn’t stop shaking. My hands, my breath, my thoughts, they all trembled like I’d been dropped into ice water. I hadn’t slept in, I didn’t even know how long. My body kept begging for rest, but the second I closed my eyes, I saw Silvio’s face and woke up gasping. All I could think about was the awful stretch of time I’d spent in Rino Lombardi’s hands. Those walls. The way he looked at me like he enjoyed watching fear bleed through me. He liked pain. He liked mine. And no matter how hard I tried to push the memories away, they crawled back, until I was gripping the edge of the table just to stay upright. If he enjoyed hurting me… God,

Rino ─𖤝─ I walked into the kitchen, still shirtless and in my night trousers, lit a cigarette, and poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I stood there like an idiot, staring at my phone as if Alessia fucking Capone was suddenly going to text first. I took another drag off my cigarette, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Footsteps clicked behind me. My maid froze in the doorway the second she saw me, bare-chested, in nothing but my night trousers, smoke and phone in one hand, coffee in the other. Her eyes darted over me fast, like she was afraid I’d notice the way she was looking and even more afraid I wouldn’t. “G–good morning, Signore,” she whispered. I flicked my eyes her way and she flinched. “You’re early,” I said, my voice rough from sleep and nicotine. She nodded too quickly, “I…I thought you might need something.” I tilted my head, and she went stiff like a rabbit spotting a wolf. Her gaze betrayed her, sliding down my torso again before she yanked it back u