All Chapters of Oops! I Mistakenly Kidnapped The Mafia Don’s Heir: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter 1Estelle✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦“Fourteen pounds fifty… that’s not right.” My mum recounted, her voice doing that wobbly thing it did when she was trying not to cry in front of us.I could fix this. Right now. The money I’d been hiding under my mattress for six months could sort our grocery situation for weeks. Instead, in three hours, it was buying me a one-way ticket to Sicily where, according to my friends, I was finally going to get my cherry popped by some Mediterranean god with wandering hands.I was officially going to hell.“Mum, it’s fine,” Danny called from the sofa, not looking up from his Xbox. My baby brother thought seventeen made him the man of the house, bless him. “I don’t need breakfast anyway.”“Don’t be stupid, love. Growing boys need proper meals.” Mum was trying for cheerful but landing somewhere closer to manic.My phone buzzed. Vivian: Car’s outside in 15. Please tell me you’re not having second thoughts about Operation Deflowering.Another buzz from Millie: I’ve

Chapter 3 Estelle ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ Sicily was nothing like I’d imagined and everything like the photos all at once. The island we’d come to—Isola di San Michele—was only accessible by a small ferry from the main port, and as we approached, I understood why people paid stupid money to visit. It was paradise. Actual, literal paradise with white sand beaches and water so blue it looked photoshopped. The island was small enough to walk across in twenty minutes but packed with enough bars, restaurants, and hidden coves to keep tourists busy for weeks. “This place is mental,” I breathed, staring at the crystal-clear water as our ferry pulled into the tiny harbor. “Mental gorgeous,” Vivian agreed. “And look at all the fit blokes already on the beach. It’s like they knew we were coming.” “They definitely knew Stell was coming,” Millie laughed. “Operation Deflowering is officially go.” “Will you please stop calling it that? People might hear you.” “Let them hear. You’re twenty-three and

Chapter 5 Kegan ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ The girl wouldn’t shut up. I’d stared down Made Men twice her size who crumbled under the weight of my silence. I’d negotiated with arms dealers who’d rather eat glass than cross me. I’d walked into rooms where everyone wanted me dead and walked out with their loyalty. But this British tourist in a Primark bikini—Cristo santo—was arguing with me like I was a particularly incompetent mall cop. Maybe because this was out of my natural, always-smiling-Kegan element? “I’m not putting him down,” she said again, voice climbing an octave. Her arms tightened around Adelio like she was holding the last life vest on the Titanic. “Not until someone with an actual brain shows up and realizes I’m not the kidnapper here!” My jaw ticked. The lucky poker chip in my pocket felt heavier than usual—I’d been rubbing it raw for the past six hours while we tore this beach apart looking for Russel’s son. Six hours of Allesia’s sobs echoing in my skull. Six hours of watch

Chapter 6 Kegan ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ Finally, Russel’s gun lowered. Just an inch. “She comes with us,” he said flatly. “We find out who sent her. We find out what she knows and we fucking kill her so they don’t think we’re weak.” “No!” The girl’s voice was shrill now, edging toward panic. “I told you, nobody sent me! I’m just a tourist! I’m here with my friends—they’ll be looking for me—” “Then they can look harder,” Russel snapped. “This is insane!” She turned to the crowd, desperate. “Is anyone going to help? This is kidnapping! This is—is assault! This would never happen in England! Someone call the police!” As if on cue, sirens wailed in the distance. Perfect. I caught Marco’s eye across the sand. He nodded, already moving to intercept. We owned half the polizia in this country, but we still had to play the game. Even though the island belonged to my family. The girl’s face lit up with hope. “Thank God—” “Don’t get excited,” I told her. “The cops here know who we are.” Her face

Chapter 8 Estelle ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ Kegan didn’t come back. I’d waited. Stupidly. Pathetically. Sitting on that enormous bed in clothes I’d found in the wardrobe—a soft linen dress that did little to protect me from the cold, watching the sun disappear behind the hills. Eight o’clock came and went. Nine. Ten. At half past ten, the door unlocked. I sat up, heart hammering with something that felt dangerously close to relief. But it wasn’t Kegan’s tall frame that filled the doorway. It was Marco. Silent, expressionless Marco, holding a tray of food like he was serving the last meal to a condemned prisoner. Which, if I wasn’t in denial, he probably was. “Thank you,” I said quietly as he set it on the desk. Pasta. Bread. Water. No wine, I noticed. Nothing I could potentially use as a weapon or throw in someone’s face. He turned to leave. “Wait—” The word came out too desperate, too raw. “Please. Can I—can I at least make a phone call? Just one. To let my friends know I’m okay?”