All Chapters of TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Six months laterJJ had been teething, and with it came colic, fever, and all the other things babies developed at that age. Elena was doing all she could to ensure he ate and slept, too. Mama had been of help, too, all through JJ's growing-up journey. The journey was far from over anyway. The sun filtered into the dining room in soft bounces, like it wasn't sure whether it should shine or not. JJ lay lazily on his mother's lap as she tried to coo him to sleep. She had the heaviest eye bags, evidence every toddler Mum has. JJ hadn't slept a wink last night. The only arms he slept off automatically in were his dad's, but Jeremy was away for a business trip. He should be back any minute now. Mama was a bit under the weather, so it was just Elena and her baby. She didn't trust any of the housekeepers enough to leave JJ alone with them so she could get some sleep. She had asked one of the kitchen staff to get her warm water in JJ's feeder, but he hadn't been back yet. Trent, the staf

The Cali estate had witnessed many grand occasions, but JJ’s christening was unlike any other. It was not a wedding, not a coronation, not a declaration of war—but it was something just as sacred, just as powerful, just as defining.It was the christening of the next Cali heir.The chapel had been transformed overnight, draped in white and gold, the wooden pews polished until they gleamed beneath the glow of flickering candles. The air smelled of burning incense and fresh lilies, a scent that had carried through generations of Cali baptisms. It was tradition, and if there was one thing the Cali family valued, it was tradition.Jeremy stood at the front of the chapel, his broad shoulders squared, his jaw locked, his expression a careful mask of control. Elena stood beside him, her hands cradling JJ’s small, delicate body, her arms tense, as if she knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just a ceremony—it was a statement.The room was filled with the most powerful names in the underworld, me

With Jeremy gone, with his wife and his best men by his side, heading for Kenya on business that could very well turn into war, balance shifted—not in a way that was immediately noticeable, not in a way that would send shockwaves through the household.But like a slow-moving storm building on the horizon, inch by inch, unseen until it was too late to escape.And Jeremiah had been waiting for this moment.Two days before his departure, Jeremy called a meeting in the main study, the grandest room in the estate, lined with walls of leather-bound books, its heavy drapes drawn just enough to let the golden afternoon light filter through in streaks across the polished wooden table.He stood at the head of the room, his fingers pressed against the smooth surface, his sharp gaze moving across the gathered faces—men he trusted, men he expected loyalty from, men who knew that his word was absolute.His tone was firm, unwavering."While I’m gone, Jeremiah is in charge of all business operations.

It was past midnight in Italy, but sleep had long abandoned Hammer.He sat alone in his private office, the dim glow of his desk lamp casting long, stretching shadows across the room, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a slow, deliberate rhythm—like a countdown to something inevitable.His glass of whiskey sat untouched, the amber liquid catching the faint light, swirling gently every time his hand brushed against it.His mind was elsewhere.His mind was on Kenya.On Jeremy Cali.Elena hadn’t given him much, but she had confirmed one crucial thing:Jeremy was there.And that alone was enough to set everything in motion.Men like Jeremy Cali didn’t leave their empire unattended unless they were securing something far bigger than anyone realized.And if there was one thing Hammer had learned after years of hunting the Mafia—Nothing Cali touched was ever small.He needed information.The right kind of information.And there was only one person in Kenya who could get it for

The African sun was a merciless thing, hanging like a burning god in the sky, casting a golden haze over the private oil compound where some of the most dangerous men in the world were about to sit down and negotiate as if they weren’t seconds away from killing each other.The compound itself was a fortress, miles away from prying eyes.A massive, walled estate carved out of the Kenyan desert, its tall perimeter fences lined with barbed wire, the entrance guarded by men in military fatigues carrying AK-47s slung over their shoulders.Beyond the gates, the long driveway stretched like a black river, leading up to the main building, a luxurious stone villa that sat on the highest point of the land, surrounded by acres of oil fields that promised billions to the man who could control them.The air was thick, humid, heavy with the scent of oil and gunpowder.And the tension was suffocating.A convoy of blacked-out Range Rovers pulled up at the gates first, engines growling as they rolled