Todos los capítulos de CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride : Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

~ANYA POV~The yellow dress César chose is bright. Too bright.It makes me look like a canary. A beacon. As we walk across the manicured lawn toward the cliffs, I realize that is exactly the point. He wants me to be seen.The Spanish sun is high and hot, beating down on my shoulders, but César is cool as ice beside me. His hand is a heavy weight on the small of my back, steering me, pushing me toward the edge of the property where the land drops off into the sea.We stop at a spot where a blanket has already been laid out. There is a basket. A bottle of wine. It looks like a scene from a romance movie.But then I look at the tree line.It is about three hundred yards away. A dense brushwood of pines and scrub brush. It looks empty to the naked eye. But I know he is there.Diego.My heart gives a painful, lurching thud. My twin brother is out there, looking through a scope, sweating in the heat, waiting for a chance to save me."He's watching," César whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

THE DROWNING~ANYA POV~The yacht wasn't just a boat. It was a floating palace, glowing white against the black water of the harbor.It was beautiful, in the way a sharp knife is beautiful. I stood on the dock, staring at the gold letters painted across the hull.'THE ESMERALDA.' My middle name.My stomach turned over. It wasn't a romantic move. It was a brand. He'd named a multi-million dollar vessel after me like he was tagging cattle. It was his way of telling the ocean, the sky, and everyone in Spain that he owned me."Do you like it?" César asked. He was standing right behind me, his chest brushing my back. His hand rested heavy on the nape of my neck, fingers toying with the baby hairs there."It's... a lot," I whispered."It's yours," he said.He guided me up the ramp. I didn't want to go. My feet felt like lead. Every step away from the solid ground felt like a mistake, but his grip on my neck was firm. Not painful, just... present. A reminder.We had dinner on the upper deck.

THE REUNION~ANYA POV~César's hand felt heavy on my lower back as he guided us toward the head tableMy father was walking beside me, but he looked as if he were in a trance. He kept glancing from the armed guards to the silk tablecloths, his face pale and clammy. He smelled like sawdust and Old Spice...a scent of home that made my chest ache....but the man wearing it felt like a stranger. He was terrified.We reached the table. It was a nightmare arrangement: César in the middle, me on his right, my dad on his left. We were on display for the three hundred guests watching our every move."Sit," César said pleasantly, pulling out my chair.I sat. My father sank into the chair next to me, his movements stiff."So, Marcel," César said, pouring vintage wine into my father's glass as if they were old friends. "How was the flight?"My dad stared at the wine swirling in the crystal glass. He looked like he wanted to throw it in César's face. His hands were clenched into fists on his lap, t

THE WATCHER~DIEGO POV~{24 HOURS EARLIER}The plastic edge of the safety glasses pressed into my head, which was wet with sweat.It was eighty degrees in Marbella, and the sun was going down, leaving behind a hot and sticky feeling on my skin. I lay on my stomach in the dirt, the scent of crushed pine needles and dry earth filling my nose, but I was shivering.I wasn't shaking from the cold. I was shaking from a rage so pure, so concentrated, it felt like it was boiling my blood.Through the high-powered scope of the rifle...an old Remington I'd bought off a shady contact in Madrid for three times its worth..the world was magnified.I saw the crystal chandeliers hanging from the olive trees. I saw the waiters moving like ants in white jackets. I saw the glint of diamonds and the flash of silk.And I saw him.César Navarro.He stood near the buffet table, looking like a god of the underworld in his tuxedo. He was holding a glass of whiskey, laughing at something a man next to him said

THE RAMPAGE~ANYA POV~I waited. I sat on the edge of the unmade bed, staring at the closed door, counting the seconds. Then the minutes. Then the hours.The silence in the estate was absolute. It was a deep, expensive silence that pressed against my eardrums. I strained to hear the sound of a car engine, footsteps, a voice....anything that would tell me my father was back home. Or that he was safe.But there was nothing.By noon, the anxiety that had been buzzing in my chest like a trapped insect turned into something else. It curdled. It thickened. It turned into a hot, blinding rage.He took him. He took my father while I was sleeping, while I was recovering from his touch, and he dragged him away without letting me say a proper goodbye.I stood up. My hands were shaking, not from fear this time, but from a fury so potent it made my vision blur.I looked at the room. This beautiful, terracotta-tiled cage. The silk curtains. The antique vases. The mahogany furniture. Everything in