Semua Bab Mafia’s Feud : Love & Betrayal : Bab 61 - Bab 70

The night air clung thick to Marco as he slipped away from Lucy. His boots struck the cobbled streets in sharp rhythm, but inside his chest, his heart was an erratic drum.Lucy’s words refused to leave his head.Tell Angelo… I’m carrying his child.The phrase looped over and over, like a curse branded into his mind.Marco had lived most of his life in shadows, gathering whispers, delivering messages, cleaning up the stains left behind by power-hungry men. Nothing shocked him anymore. Or so he had believed.But this? This was different. This wasn’t some business deal gone sour, or a rival family’s betrayal. This was personal. Messy. The kind of truth that didn’t just stain, it bled.Twice, Marco stopped. Once by the empty market square, staring at the cracked fountain where once, as a boy, he’d stolen bread to survive. Once again at the edge of a narrow alley, where the glow of a lantern painted long shadows against the walls.Both times, he thought about turning back. About burying Lu

Her eyes narrowed. “Something’s wrong. You don’t get to play the ghost with us anymore.”Maya brushed Selene’s hand aside, sliding an arm around Lucy’s shoulders instead. “Don’t press her like that,” she murmured, stroking Lucy’s arm as if soothing a child. “She’s shaking. Can’t you see? She doesn’t need interrogation, she needs… she needs us.”Kira bristled, stepping closer, her gaze darting around the darkened street. “No, what she needs is protection. If she’s out here, if she looks like this, then someone’s got her cornered. Tell me who. Say the word, Lucy, and I’ll make sure they regret it.”Lucy’s lips trembled. She felt them pulling at her, Selene’s razor, Maya’s balm, Kira’s fire.She wanted to collapse into all of them at once. She wanted to scream the truth until her throat bled. She wanted to bury it so deep that no one, not even they, could dig it out.Her voice cracked when it finally emerged.“I… I couldn’t stay in there anymore.”Maya’s arm tightened. “In the estate?”S

Lucy’s chest heaved. Her throat burned. She had promised herself she wouldn’t tell. That she would bury this secret so deep it would die with her if it had to.But their voices pressed in on her, different tones, different demands:Selene, calculating, needing control.Kira, desperate, begging to share the burden.Maya, furious, vowing to drag the truth out if she had to.Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, words slipping out before she could stop them. “It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.”“Doesn’t matter?” Maya snapped, stepping closer. “Lucy, you’re carrying someone’s child. That matters more than anything right now. And if it’s Mancini blood”“Stop.” Lucy’s voice broke like glass.Kira crouched beside her, taking her hand. “Lucy… please. We won’t judge you. We just want to help you. Whoever it is, whatever this means… you don’t have to go through it alone.”Lucy shook her head, biting down so hard on her lip she tasted blood. She couldn’t say his name. Not here. Not yet. If she spoke it

Vince had been silent since the shouting began.He sat at the far end of the table, one leg crossed over the other, his hand calmly swirling a glass of brandy he hadn’t touched. His expression was unreadable, no fury, no panic, just that cold, calculating stillness that made even his brothers wary.When Salvatore’s voice broke off, Vince finally spoke, quiet but razor sharp.“She didn’t escape alone.”The words cut through the room.Adrian slammed his fist against the table. “Of course she didn’t. Someone helped her. Tell me who, and I’ll put their head on the gate before sundown.”Vince’s gaze slid over him with disinterest. “Bluster won’t find her. Whoever pulled this off knew my schedule. They waited until I was gone. That takes planning, precision. Someone who’s been watching us closely.”Damien leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You think Mancini? That bastard’s son sniffing around again?”At the mention of Angelo’s name, something flickered in Vince’s gaze, a thin crack in the ice.

News traveled fast, even faster in Cosa Nostra circles.By the time dawn broke over Catania, word had already bled west to Palermo: Lucy Valerio had vanished from her family’s estate.Enrico Russo heard it first at his long oak dining table, the kind where business bled into breakfast. His captains murmured about it between mouthfuls of espresso and cigarettes, each trying to gauge the other’s reaction before their Don’s.Enrico set down his cup carefully, his heavy gold ring glinting in the morning light. His face was unreadable, but the silence he allowed to stretch was deliberate, tightening the air until his men shifted nervously.The first murmur had arrived with the dawn, a courier riding hard from Catania, sweat still glistening on his neck when he handed over the letter. Enrico read it in silence, his thick fingers turning the page carefully, as though savoring the weight of the words.By the time the rest of the table heard, the courier had been dismissed, and Enrico sat with