All Chapters of Mafia’s Feud : Love & Betrayal : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Lucy had gotten the news before it had even reached her parents and brothers.She’d been curled up on her bed, textbooks spread open but forgotten, when Maya’s text buzzed through “Mancini’s son. He was the one from the previous night. Everyone’s talking about him. Lucy… he’s back.”The name hit her like a strike to the chest.Her breath caught. She sat upright, staring at the screen until the words blurred.“Mancini’s son.” She thought to herself Lucy’s breath faltered. She sat on the edge of her bed, the room tilting around her as Maya’s message replayed in her head: Mancini’s son.Her heart skipped, then another vibration rattled against her palm. This time it was Selene “They’re saying his name is Angelo. Angelo Mancini.”The phone slipped from Lucy’s grasp, tumbling onto the bed with a clatter. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling the frantic thrum of her own heartbeat.“Angelo.” She whispered, Her throat went dry. Her pulse raced. No, it couldn’t be.The name felt

Years later, she remembered the first time he kissed her.It had not been like the hungry claims of the boys who wanted her only because she was Enrico Russo’s daughter. It had not been desperate or demanding.It had been hesitant. Careful.They had snuck away from the house one night, the sound of cicadas heavy in the summer air. They lay beneath the olive trees, shadows cloaking them in secret. He had been speaking in that low voice of his, confessions whispered as though the night itself was his priest.“I don’t want this,” Angelo had admitted, staring up at the canopy. “All this blood. All these chains.”“You’re Giovanni’s son,” she had said, because that was all she knew how to say.“I don’t care,” he’d whispered. “I just want to breathe without someone telling me who I am.”And then he had turned to her, his eyes soft, unguarded in a way that made her chest ache. The kiss had been clumsy at first, awkward as youth always was, but it had carried with it a truth that had never lef

Lucy had been raised in silks and laughter, a child of ease compared to Tatiana’s world of guns and discipline. Lucy had never tasted iron on her tongue, never carried the weight of her father’s empire on her shoulders.What could such a girl know of Angelo?What could she give him that Tatiana had not already given, a thousand times over, with her loyalty, her silence, her fire?The thought of Angelo looking at Lucy the way he had once looked at her with those storm-tossed eyes that saw more than he ever said ignited something inside her that was darker than jealousy. It was betrayal all over again, sharpened now with rivalry.If Angelo thought he could crawl back into this city and lose himself in softness, she would remind him of who he was. Of who he had always been. A Mancini. A son of Giovanni. Forged in fire, not cradled in silk.And if Lucy Valerio thought she could steal him away, as though love were a toy she could pluck from another girl’s hands then Lucy would learn.The

Back at the Valerios Estate, when Lucy had returned, she shut her bedroom door with trembling fingers, twisting the lock though she knew it wouldn’t matter. Locks never mattered in this house. Her father had keys to everything; her mother never knocked; Vince would kick a door down if he thought she was in danger. Privacy was an illusion here, one of the many illusions she had wrapped around herself to keep breathing.But tonight, every illusion was gone.She pressed her back to the door, sliding down until she sat on the carpet, knees pulled tight against her chest. For a long moment she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. She just listened to the faint hum of the house, the guards outside patrolling, the occasional whisper of voices from the courtyard, the muffled slam of a distant door. Ordinary sounds. But ordinary was dead.Her mind replayed the day like a reel she couldn’t stop: the car that followed her, the woman with the sharp eyes, the way her brother’s men had rushed into the

Angelo sat in the back of the car, the leather seat creaking as the city rolled by outside. Catania hadn’t changed. The streets still pulsed with the same mix of noise and menace, of markets spilling fruit and contraband alike, of alleys where men whispered names they shouldn’t. He had thought returning after years away would feel like stepping into a dream but it wasn’t a dream. It was a trap, and every instinct in him knew it.Beside him, Marco, who was like a brother to him. Angelo hadn’t expected to see Marco again when he set foot in catania. Not really. He’d told himself the man had moved on, buried the memories of those reckless years they had spent side by side in the Mancini shadow. But when he opened the door of the safehouse two nights ago, Marco had been standing there, older, sharper, but with the same wolfish grin, it was like stepping back into a part of himself he thought he’d left behind. Marco like others have heard of his return and immediately came to see for himse