All Chapters of OWNED BY THE ENEMY, His Dark Claim: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Alessandro’s POV I didn't go home after the meeting. The weight of what had almost happened—what still could—sat too heavily in my chest for me to face Amara with it. I told Damian to drive past the estate, past familiar roads, until the city thinned into a stretch of dim lights and old habits. My usual spot. A place where no one asked questions and the bartender never spoke unless spoken to. The kind of place I came to when my thoughts were louder than gunfire. I took the first glass of beer down too quickly, the bitterness grounding me. The second one sat untouched in my hand when Damian finally spoke, his voice low, careful, the way it always was when he knew he was about to cross into dangerous territory. “So what do you intend to do now, Boss?” he asked. “How do you plan on working on those promises?” I didn't answer right away. “With how fast they were ready to dismiss you,” he continued, “I don't think they plan to keep you for long. You'll have to excee

Alessandro’s POV The drive from the estate to Genoa took close to five hours without a single stop. I barely noticed the distance. My mind stayed elsewhere—on Amara’s face when I kissed her goodbye, on the way her hands trembled even as she tried to be brave, on the promise I’d made and intended to keep no matter what this city threw at me. Damian had told me Matteo had been given a heads-up. He’ll find you, Damian had said confidently. Once you enter Genoa, he won't miss you. So I didn't go looking. I stopped at a club just outside the city limits—a place Damian had mentioned specifically. Low lights. Loud music. The kind of place where no one asks questions and everyone minds their business. Perfect. I ordered a beer and took a seat at the bar, letting the noise wash over me. I needed my head clear, but I also needed to blend in Genoa wasn’t my territory. Not yet. After the first beer, a man took the empty stool beside me. He didn’t look threatening.

Amara’s POVThe only thing I’ve been able to do since Alessandro left for Genoa is walk.From room to room. From window to window. Down the long corridors of a house that suddenly feels too large for just one heartbeat. My hands rest constantly on my stomach—big now, round and heavy with life—my quiet reassurance that at least one good thing is certain.My baby is healthy.And Alessandro… Alessandro is in Genoa, doing everything he can to secure our future, to make sure La Camorra never gets close enough to touch us again.That thought is the only thing that steadies me.Sometimes I pause by the tall windows, watching the gates as if he might drive in any second, even though I know better. Other times, I sit on the edge of the bed we shared and breathe through the loneliness, reminding myself that this separation has a purpose.Looking back at how everything started, I realize something that still shocks me.I did right by not telling Alessandro I was pregnant when he handed me that c

Chapter 118Amara’s POVI had thought—naively—that when Alessandro came back, even if it was only for a short while, time would finally slow down for us. That we would steal hours from the world the way we used to steal glances. But that wasn’t the case. His visit felt like borrowed time, rushed and fragile, as if someone might snatch it away if we lingered too long.The urgency in his voice unsettled me. Every time he glanced at the clock or checked his phone, a chill slid down my spine. Still, he kept reassuring me—everything is going according to plan, he said. Genoa was under control. All he had to do was keep a low profile, blend in, and wait it out. He spoke with such certainty that I forced myself to believe him, even when my instincts whispered otherwise.I never got the chance to tell him.About the hospital.About the doctor’s words.About the fact that the baby had turned into babies.The truth sat heavy on my chest, but there was no space for it. Every moment felt counted,

Alessandro’s POV. The truck slowed, then came to a sudden stop. I looked around, confused. The place was crowded—too crowded. People moved in clusters, voices overlapping, laughter mixing with the low thrum of music from somewhere nearby. It didn’t look like a final destination, not the kind of quiet exchange point I’d imagined. But then again, Genoa wasn’t my city. I had no map of its underworld yet. Before I could say anything, Matteo reached behind his seat, grabbed the bag of Coke with the client’s name written boldly across it, and opened his door. Instinctively, I moved to do the same. The moment I pushed my door open, Matteo’s hand shot out. He caught the handle and shoved it closed, forcing me back into my seat. “You don’t need to come along,” he said firmly. I frowned. “Why not?” Matteo slung the bag over his shoulder and leaned slightly into the car, lowering his voice. “This client is tricky. Very tricky.” He glanced around the area, his eyes sharp, calculating.