บททั้งหมดของ TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The streets of Nairobi blurred into streaks of headlights and neon signs as Jeremy pressed his foot hard against the accelerator, weaving recklessly through traffic, barely missing incoming cars, his body still thrumming with adrenaline and the raw, unrelenting realization that he had just barely escaped death.The military truck he had stolen after the ambush rattled dangerously beneath him, its heavy-duty tires skidding over patches of wet pavement, the suspension groaning every time he swerved too hard.Next to him, Travanto Petrovich sat in silence, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the dashboard, his normally arrogant, cocky demeanor now replaced with something else entirely.Something darker.Something lethal.Jeremy could feel the Russian’s anger crackling in the air between them, but neither of them spoke.Because the truth was too heavy to say aloud.The CIA had gotten to them.And someone had betrayed Jeremy.Again.This wasn’t coincidence.This wasn’t bad m

The Cali estate had never felt so still.Not in the peaceful kind of way—but in the haunted, waiting-for-the-kill kind of way.Since his return from Kenya, Jeremy had been a different man. Not even Elena was immune to the shift.He barely spoke.Barely ate.Barely slept.He moved through the mansion like a phantom, his sharp eyes always calculating, his mind running in silent warfare against an enemy he couldn’t see.And that was the worst part.The not knowing.There was a mole inside his organization.Someone close.Someone who had nearly gotten him killed.And until he found them, until he extracted the truth, no one was safe. Not even the people he had once trusted.*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***It was past midnight when his phone rang.Jeremy had been sitting in his office, drinking whiskey he didn’t really taste, staring at a map of his empire, trying to trace the betrayal.The shrill ring cut through the silence, and he snatched the receiver up.“Talk.”On the other e

Father Bernard sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers locked together as if in silent prayer, though the words that sat on his tongue were far from holy.Mama, seated across from him, was preoccupied with the Lego house JJ was building. Her fingers, aged but steady, picked up a brick, carefully placing it on top of the others, her focus unshaken despite the storm that brewed in the air between them.The priest exhaled slowly."Jeremy must know."Mama didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up.She picked up another brick. Placed it. Adjusted it.Then—finally—she spoke."No, he mustn’t."His jaw tensed. "Mama, Jeremiah isn’t just stealing—he’s taking pieces of Jeremy’s empire and making them his own. He’s playing a long game. If we sit by and do nothing, Jeremy could lose more than money. He could lose everything."Mama let out a slow breath. "Jeremy’s already lost more than he realizes."Her gaze flickered toward JJ, who had taken two Lego figurines and was now making them fight. His innocent

Elena stood at the door, her fingers tightening around the stroller handle as Jeremy fastened JJ’s tiny jacket with sharp, impatient movements.She had seen this mood before.The kind where he barely spoke, where the tension in his shoulders made him look tense, dangerous, unreadable.The kind where she knew better than to question him."Take the stroller, Jeremy. It’ll be easier."Jeremy didn’t even glance at her."He doesn’t need it. He’ll walk."Elena sighed, stepping forward."He’s barely walking yet, Jeremy. He’s only a baby."JJ giggled at the raised voices, his chubby fingers reaching for his father’s gold chain, yanking it with a force that would have earned anyone else a broken wrist.Jeremy’s jaw twitched, his fingers tightening around JJ’s little hand before gently prying it off.Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he kicked the stroller.Not pushed it aside or shoved it with his foot.Kicked it.The expensive frame went crashing down the marble steps, tumbling until it la

The Cali estate’s golf course stretched under the Italian sun, its pristine fairways kissed by the scent of freshly cut grass, the distant chirp of birds the only sound aside from the occasional clink of golf clubs against balls.It was a setting designed for civilized discussions, for men in tailored suits to make deals over slow games and expensive cigars.But today, there was no golf game. No cigars.There was only tension.Jeremy stood near the sand trap, his golf club resting lazily on his shoulder, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his muscles taut beneath the thin fabric. His stance was calm but unreadable, the stance of a man who had already decided how this conversation would go but was willing to entertain the illusion of negotiation.Across from him, Flinco stood tall, his deep blue African tunic embroidered with golden patterns that shimmered under the sun. The fabric was proud, powerful, much like the man wearing it. His jaw was tight, his expression controlled, but his eyes h