All Chapters of The Mafia Devil’s Wrong Bride: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Annalissa Hale I wake up before my alarm goes off. My heart is already beating like i’m late for something.It takes me a few seconds to realize why.Today. Today is the day I finally meet the buyer of MuseCo.I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling as pale morning light creeps through the curtains. My chest feels tight, like someone tied a ribbon around my ribs and pulled just a little too hard. I don’t usually get nervous like this. I pitch to boards. I negotiate contracts. I’ve handled men who thought they could talk over me simply because they could afford to.So why does this feel different?I tell myself it’s just the uncertainty. I hate not knowing who I’m dealing with. I hate faceless power. It’s easier when the threat has a name.I swing my legs out of bed and exhale slowly. Get it together, Issa. You’ve survived worse than a mysterious billionaire with a habit of secrecy.The apartment is quiet as I pad down the hallway, the wooden floor cool beneath my feet. I pause out

Dante RomanoI walk into MuseCo with the same practiced composure I’ve worn like armor for years.Glass doors slide open and Mackenzie walks beside me, tablet tucked under her arm, heels clicking softly as usual. She’s already briefing me before I fully register the space.“The campaign team and a few MuseCo executives are already in the conference room,” she says. “We’re on schedule.”On schedule. Good.We move down the corridor, past framed brand campaigns and muted abstract art. I barely look at any of it. We reach the conference room. Through the glass walls, I see silhouettes of people seated, papers laid out, screens ready. My eyes sweep the room instinctively.Before I can step inside, Mackenzie lightly taps my arm.I turn back to her.“The grade one renovations at Leclair Academy wrapped up yesterday,” she says quietly. “The dean wanted to know if you’d like to stop by and see the completed work before we apply the model to the rest of the classrooms.”I nod once. “Afte

Dante RomanoI walk into MuseCo with the same practiced composure I’ve worn like armor for years.Glass doors slide open and Mackenzie walks beside me, tablet tucked under her arm, heels clicking softly as usual. She’s already briefing me before I fully register the space.“The campaign team and a few MuseCo executives are already in the conference room,” she says. “We’re on schedule.”On schedule. Good.We move down the corridor, past framed brand campaigns and muted abstract art. I barely look at any of it. We reach the conference room. Through the glass walls, I see silhouettes of people seated, papers laid out, screens ready. My eyes sweep the room instinctively.Before I can step inside, Mackenzie lightly taps my arm.I turn back to her.“The grade one renovations at Leclair Academy wrapped up yesterday,” she says quietly. “The dean wanted to know if you’d like to stop by and see the completed work before we apply the model to the rest of the classrooms.”I nod once. “Afte

Dante RomanoThe car hums beneath us, tires whispering over the Paris streets as we leave the MuseCo building behind. Mackenzie sits beside me, silent at first, letting the city pass. I stare straight ahead, hands tight around the wheel, replaying Issa’s presence in the boardroom.“You’re clearly affected,” Mackenzie says suddenly, breaking the quiet.I glance at her. “I’m… not.”She tilts her head. “Pretending doesn’t count. I saw the way you watched her. The way you measured her. You’re pretending to be composed, but there’s something there. Always is.”I tighten my jaw. “I was watching the presentation. That’s my job.”“Is it, though?” she asks softly. “Or is it the way she… occupies space in your mind? Maybe seeing things from her point of view would help you get over it.”I snort, a bitter sound. “Seeing things from her point of view isn’t going to change history.”“Fine,” she says, leaning back. “But I still think talking would help.”“Talking?” I repeat.“Yeah. Someone neutra

Dante RomanoI sit in the sleek black leather of my car, engine off, hands loosely gripping the wheel. Across the street, the playground of Leclair Academy is alive with noise: children running, laughing, shouting. My eyes narrow, scanning the small figures moving among the swings and jungle gyms. Something about the way Issa reacted when I mentioned the school won’t leave me alone. I can’t place it yet, but it’s nagging at the edges of my mind, persistent and insistent.I promised myself I wouldn’t dig into her life, that I wouldn’t cross lines I swore never to cross again. But the flicker of unease, the sense that she knows more than she should, pulls at me. Mackenzie’s voice comes back to me: “You’re still affected by her, whether you admit it or not. Maybe seeing things from her point of view would help you move on.”I start the engine, ignoring the honks from the impatient parents. I don’t need closure; I need answers. I call Mackenzie on the secure line. “Mack, check the school,