All Chapters of Maid To The Three Mafia Kings: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Gallagher’s Inn - Billings, MT“Evan?” Millie’s voice broke the quiet of the dark room.“Hmmm?”“Are you awake?” She turned her head toward the window, where the curtains were drawn tight, blocking the glow of the streetlamp outside.“No,” Evan murmured, followed by an exaggerated snore.Millie let out a giggle, shaking her head. “Stop it.”Evan chuckled softly. “Well, you did ask.”She rolled onto her side, facing where she knew he was sprawled out on the couch. “Hey, the offer still stands, you know.” Her voice was light, teasing.Evan sighed. “Trust me, Millie Berry, it’s safer if I stay right here on this couch rather than in bed with you. For reasons I’m sure you already know.”Heat rushed to her face. Thank god it was dark—he couldn’t see how red she was. She bit her lip, heart skipping. They’d kissed before. She knew exactly what he was holding back from.Evan was keeping his distance, probably trying to avoid what might happen if they ended up in the same bed. Still… a part of

Hours had slipped by since Evan and Millie arrived at the house. Their initial exploration had given way to a quiet settling in, though the pantry raid Evan had promised turned up nothing but dust and a lone can of expired soup.“Roger Mills, you slacker,” Evan had muttered with a dramatic sigh, earning a laugh from Millie.With nothing edible in sight, they decided to head out for food, piling into the car as the late afternoon sun dipped low.Evan drove slower than usual, his hands steady on the wheel, though his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror more often than Millie noticed. A black BMW with dark-tinted windows had caught his attention a few miles back—an expensive ride that didn’t fit the rural stretch they were on. It had overtaken an old wagon lumbering behind them, yet when the road cleared, it didn’t pass their car. Instead, it lingered, a shadow in his periphery.He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to alarm Millie, but his senses sharpened, tracking its every move. She ch

The gas station sat quietly under the dusky South Dakota sky, a lonely outpost of flickering neon and cracked pavement. A sleek BMW with dark-tinted windows idled near the pumps, its glossy black finish catching the last rays of sunlight.The driver’s door swung open, and out stepped Emily—jet-black hair slicked back tight against her scalp, bold tattoos snaking up her neck and licking at the edges of her sharp cheekbones.The ink curled like vines, stark against her pale skin—a permanent reminder that she wasn’t just anybody. She was one of Don Gustavo’s trusted executives, the kind of person you didn’t cross unless you had a death wish or really bad judgment.She stretched, her leather jacket creaking like old floorboards, and scanned the empty lot with the cool patience of someone either expecting trouble or hoping for it.The BMW had been her shadow—unnoticed by Millie but a thorn in Evan’s side—and now here she was, filling the tank and piecing together her next move. She swiped

Roger Mills’ house, South DakotaEmily’s BMW was tucked just a yard from the house, half-hidden behind a wall of overgrown bushes that looked like they hadn’t seen a trimmer since the last owner sold the place. She slouched in the driver’s seat, engine off, absentmindedly picking at a greasy takeout container of fried rice balanced on her lap.A plastic fork hung from her mouth as she scrolled through her phone, the glow catching the tattoos curling up her neck. It was a rare moment of peace—until her phone buzzed like an angry hornet, Don Gustavo’s name flashing across the screen.She sighed and pulled the fork from her mouth. “Here we go.” She hit accept. “Don Gustavo.”The old man didn’t bother with hellos. He launched straight into a tirade that could’ve peeled paint off the walls.“I fucking knew it! Evan lied to me, the fucking bastard! Ethan’s alive. Aidan’s alive. I knew that little shit was up to something when he took out all my men. That fucking reckless piece-of-nothing so

Evan muttered to himself as he drove toward the grocery store, headlights cutting through the fading light. A crumpled receipt sat on the passenger seat. That damn $10.16 Himalayan salt was burned into his brain. He kept glancing at it, then back at the road, fingers tapping the wheel.Something wasn’t right. He’d paid in cash and saw the cashier bag everything—steaks, potatoes, butter, and that overpriced salt he’d insisted on. So where the hell was it?He squinted, running through it again. Trunk open, bags in, trunk shut. Same routine as always. But when Millie unpacked, the salt was gone. And his memory wasn’t the problem. It never was—not when it counted.No way I forgot, he thought, snatching the receipt again. There it was: $10.16. Clear as day. He could even remember the sound it made, hitting the butter in the bag. So, unless he was losing it, someone had taken it.His gut twisted. That feeling he never ignored.“Screw this,” he muttered, jerking the wheel into a U-turn. The