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

Chapter 1 ESTELLE ⟻⟼ ✦ ⟻⟼ "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, whatever that was supposed to look like in practice. I was officially going to hell. Straight there, no detours, no purgatory stopover to reconsider my life choices along the way. "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, the

Chapter 3 ESTELLE ⟻⟼ ✦ ⟻⟼ Sicily was nothing like I'd imagined and everything like the photos all at once. Every corner of the place looked like it had been designed specifically to be photographed, and yet somehow the reality of standing in it felt bigger and stranger than any image had prepared me for. 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, the kind of money that would've covered my family's rent for a year, easily. 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. I'd seen postcards less convincing than the view spread out in front of us now. "This place is mental," I breathed, staring at the crystal-clear water as our ferry pulled i

Chapter 5 KEGAN ⟻⟼ ✦ ⟻⟼ The girl wouldn't shut up. Not for a second, not even with three armed men flanking her and a very real chance she wouldn't survive the next five minutes. 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, my reputation for calm precision preceding me into every single one. But this British tourist in a Primark bikini, Cristo santo, was arguing with me like I was a particularly incompetent mall cop, entirely unbothered by the fact that I could end her life with a single word to any of the men currently surrounding us. Maybe because this was out of my natural, always-smiling-Kegan element? Six hours of this particular nightmare had worn every polished edge off my usual composure, and this girl was somehow the one thing I hadn't accounted for in an already catastrophic

Chapter 6 KEGAN ⟻⟼ ✦ ⟻⟼ Finally, Russel's gun lowered. Just an inch, but enough for the tension holding my own shoulders rigid to ease by a fraction. "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've softened." "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—" She kept glancing between the two of us like she was trying to work out which one of us actually held the final say over whether she lived through the next ten minutes. "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. Nothing like a chorus of Italian sirens to turn a kidnapping into a full-bl

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. There was something almost ceremonial in the way he set it down, precise and unhurried, like a man who'd performed this exact task more times than he cared to count. "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