Alle Kapitel von The billionaire Mafia's Pregnant maid: Kapitel 21 – Kapitel 30

The night was heavy in the Moretti estate. Beyond the tall windows of Lucien’s quarters, the sky stretched black, clouds blotting out even the stars. The wind pressed against the glass with a low moan, but inside, the room was ablaze with lamplight and shadows, the scent of polished wood, faint cologne, and fire-warmed leather wrapping around Maya like a trap she couldn’t see but could feel tightening.Her footsteps were hesitant as she entered, each one muffled by the thick rug but loud to her ears. This wasn’t the servants’ wing anymore, with its small, plain rooms and creaking beds. Lucien’s private quarters were vast—dark paneled walls, carved oak, heavy velvet curtains, leather-bound books lining the shelves. The massive four-poster bed, draped in deep charcoal linens, dominated the space like a throne. It was all power, all presence, all him.She paused just inside the door, her arms wrapping tightly around herself, as if her body understood the danger better

For weeks, Maxim Santoro had lived in a state of simmering rage.Every morning bled into night with no peace in between. His men searched in waves, crawling through the city’s alleys, pounding fists on locked doors, dragging secrets from trembling mouths. Still nothing. No Maya. No whispers of where she had fled.It gnawed at him,her absence. She was his property, his pawn, his blood, and she had slipped through his fingers like smoke. Each day without her was an insult. Each day without answers was a wound to his pride.And Maxim Santoro was a man who could not abide insult.This morning was no different. His study was cloaked in heavy silence, broken only by the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. The wide Santoro estate outside hummed with restrained tension; guards posted at every door, servants moving quietly, their footsteps cautious on marble floors. The air itself seemed to avoid disturbing him.Papers littered his d

The mansion had gone quiet.Not the ordinary hush of nighttime, but a deeper kind of silence, as if the house itself knew to hold its breath when its master prowled.Lucien moved through the halls with measured steps, his phone still cooling in his palm from the call he’d just ended. Business never slept, and neither did he. But the hour was late enough that most of his men had retreated to their posts outside, the guards stationed like shadows at the gates, and the servants tucked away in their quarters. Only the low hum of security cameras and the occasional groan of old wood marked the stillness.He welcomed it. Silence was order. Silence meant control.When he reached his private quarters, he pushed the door open without ceremony, expecting the same silence inside.But the air was different here.The room was dim, the fire in the hearth long dead, shadows stretching long fingers across the high walls. The massive bed dominate

The morning brought no peace.Lucien had risen before the sun, his body conditioned to routine long before Maya had ever come into his life. The air in the room was cool, shadows stretching long across the floorboards, but his attention lingered on the figure beside him.She lay curled on her side of the bed, hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk, her breaths slow and uneven. Even in sleep, there was a fragility to her posture, as if she feared the bed itself might reject her.For one dangerous moment, he let his gaze soften. The memory of the night before pressed against him, her sobs trembling through the silence, her body taut until he drew her close. The small, unconscious way she had clutched his shirt, desperate not to be abandoned.It had shaken him. More than it should have.Lucien’s hand hovered over the curve of her hip, fingers twitching with the urge to touch. But he pulled back, clenching his fist instead. Affection

The city was alive with noise, the kind of restless energy that made Maya feel small and exposed. Cars honked impatiently, shop doors swung open to reveal bright displays, and the chatter of pedestrians carried through the morning air. She pulled her coat tighter around her, tucking her scarf up under her chin, and tried to navigate the crowd without drawing attention.After weeks confined to the mansion, every outing felt like stepping into a gauntlet. Her errands were quick, calculated — a stop at the bakery, the florist, and a small boutique to pick up a few necessities. Each step was measured, eyes darting just enough to avoid lingering attention.But fate, it seemed, had a way of bending even the most careful plans.A familiar, sharp voice cut through the hum of the city, smooth and commanding, yet threaded with something dangerous.“Maya Santoro,” the voice purred, almost as if savoring her name.Maya froze. Her body went rigid, ins