All Chapters of Mafia’s Feud : Love & Betrayal : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

She had been his first love. The kind of love that wasn’t tender, but forged in fire and danger. The kind of love that scarred.And yet…Lucy had undone him in one night.Lucy had pulled from him the kind of tenderness he hadn’t believed he possessed anymore.How could both be true? How could he burn with memory for Tatiana and ache with something gentler, purer, for Lucy?It was weakness. Contradiction. A split that could destroy him if he let it.But maybe that was the point.Maybe Lucy wasn’t his salvation. Maybe she was his punishment.Angelo dragged a hand through his hair, pacing the edge of the dock like a caged beast. His reflection in the water looked nothing like the boy who had once wanted freedom. It looked like Giovanni’s heir, the blade sharpened for war.He could not let Lucy soften him. Not now. Not when Giovanni’s eyes were everywhere, not when Tatiana’s shadow was moving again, not when Vince’s men had nearly caught him standing over Lucy in the dark.But he could no

Angelo did not follow. He could have, but following would have risked exposure, and tonight was not for being seen. Tonight was for knowing.He stayed until the dock was empty again, the silence heavy, the waves slapping against pylons in a rhythm like a heartbeat.Tatiana.The name echoed inside him.The past broke through again, unbidden.He remembered one summer night in Palermo, the air thick with jasmine, when she had dragged him up to the villa’s rooftop to watch the fireworks. He had been nineteen, still raw, still hungry for freedom, and she, two years younger, bold enough to command him, had laughed at his stiffness.“You think your father owns you,” she had whispered, leaning close enough that her hair brushed his cheek. “But he doesn’t. You’re not a weapon, Angelo. You’re a man.”It was the first time anyone had dared say that to him. And in her eyes, for a fleeting moment, he had believed it.He had kissed her that night, reckless, knowing Giovanni would kill him if he fou

One night, alone in her room, Tatiana stood before her mirror, brushing her dark hair loose from its pins. The maps and ledgers were spread across her desk behind her, the ink still drying on a new set of routes through Malta.She should have been thinking of the weapons. Of the betrayal to come. Of how the Russos would rise from servants to rulers.Instead, she thought of Angelo.She thought of his eyes the last time she had seen him, full of fire and defiance. She thought of the way he had chosen to walk away, and how she had not known what to do.And she thought of Lucy, the girl he now guarded. The girl who had somehow captured what Tatiana had once thought was hers.Her jaw tightened.She would not be made weak by ghosts. She would not let the past dictate the future.And yet, when she closed her eyes, she whispered his name.“Angelo.”It was both curse and prayer.Tatiana knew what her father did not.This war would not only be about weapons, power, or betrayal. It would be abou

The next morning, she told Enrico.They sat in the villa’s courtyard, the sun sharp on stone walls. Enrico listened in silence, a glass of wine in his hand, his face carved from disapproval.“Angelo,” he muttered finally, as though the name were sour. “Giovanni’s boy. I should have known he’d stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”Tatiana’s throat was tight. “He doesn’t just carry Giovanni’s name. He carries Giovanni’s trust. If he brings word of us”“He won’t,” Enrico cut in sharply. “Because he’ll be dead before he does.”Tatiana stiffened.Enrico leaned forward, his eyes hard. “You’ve built too much, moved too much, for it to all unravel now. Don’t let a ghost from your past blind you. Angelo Mancini is not the boy you once knew. He’s a soldier. Giovanni’s dog. If he comes too close, we cut his throat. That’s all.”Tatiana said nothing. But inside, the words sliced her raw.Could she? If it came to it, could she order Angelo’s death?The memory of his eyes, his laugh, his touch l

The silence stretched between them, thick as rope. He hated that she was right.“Why, Tatiana?” he demanded, his voice sharper now. “Why betray Giovanni? After everything your father built under him, after everything we”“Don’t,” she cut in, a knife in her voice. “Don’t you dare drag us into this.”“Us is exactly why I need to know,” Angelo shot back. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Armies, alliances, whispers of war. You’re setting the city on fire. For what?”“For survival,” she spat, stepping closer. “For strength. Giovanni’s grown weak, Angelo. You see it, even if you’re too blinded by blood to admit it. He hides behind the memory of power, clinging to respect he no longer deserves. The Mancini empire is crumbling, and when it falls, it will bury everyone beneath it.”Her words struck harder than a blade. Because deep down, part of him feared she was right.Not believing Tatiana was doing all this just because her Father had given the order, he asked a question that seem