บททั้งหมดของ Maid To The Three Mafia Kings: บทที่ 231 - บทที่ 240

Both of them turned toward the window. The island was coming into view now—rugged cliffs rising from the sea, a jagged silhouette against the gray sky.The plane touched down on a makeshift runway, and Evan stepped out, his boots hitting the gravel with a crunch. The air smelled of smoke and salt, the island a mess of ruins from Ethan and Aidan’s handiwork. Charred remains of villas dotted the landscape, their walls crumbled or blown apart. Armed men patrolled the area, their rifles at the ready, securing every corner. The main house, Giancarlo’s former stronghold, stood intact.Rose and two of Evan’s men led him to one of the few villas still standing, its roof sagging but walls holding. Rose stayed outside, giving him a nod as Evan entered.Inside, the air was stale, heavy with the tang of blood. In the center of the room, a man sat tied to a chair, his wrists and ankles bound with chains. His face was a wreck—left eye swollen shut, bloodshot, bruises blooming across his cheeks. His

Evan, Aidan, and Ethan sat in the living room of a private resort Rose had booked—a quiet place with a stone fireplace and big windows facing the beach. The air smelled like whiskey. They were slouched on leather couches, drinks in hand, the bottle already half-empty on the table.Aidan leaned forward, gripping his glass, eyes locked on Evan. “You turned on us. You’re a traitor.”Evan looked at Ethan. “You didn’t tell him?”Ethan took a sip, then said, “No.”Aidan’s glare bounced between them. “Tell me what?”Ethan set his glass down and leaned back. “When Giancarlo hit Cedar Ridge, I called Evan for help. But Don Gustavo ordered him to take us out—both of us. Evan told me the truth.”“What the fuck? He’s been talking to Don Gustavo?”“Well, he is his father,” Ethan said, like it was obvious. “Evan and I made a deal. He’d help us, but it had to look like he was attacking Cedar Ridge, not saving it. So he shot me to sell the lie.”“You let him shoot you?”“Had to,” he said with a shrug

Evan’s private plane touched down on a private airstrip just after dusk, the sky a dull gray streaked with fading orange. The air was cool, heavy with the scent of jet fuel and damp asphalt.He stepped off the plane, his boots hitting the tarmac with a soft thud, his jacket slung over one shoulder. The strip was quiet, bordered by a chain-link fence and a few scattered lights casting long shadows.His phone buzzed in his pocket, sharp against the stillness. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and answered.“Yeah, we’re here,” he said. “You’ve got all three of them? Good. I’m on my way.”He hung up, his jaw tight, and headed toward a black sedan parked nearby, its engine idling. The driver, one of his men, gave a curt nod as Evan slid into the back seat, tossing his jacket beside him.As the sedan pulled onto a narrow road, Evan took a deep breath and dialed a number, steeling himself.Don Gustavo answered on the first ring. “Well, look at this—a damn miracle. My piece-of-shit son

Evan was back. The quiet halls felt welcoming after his brief absence. He made his way to the bedroom, a small paper bag in hand, and paused at the door. There, on the bed, Millie lay sleeping, her face peaceful, her breathing steady. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he watched her for a moment, grateful to be home.He approached the bed quietly and leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead. Millie stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and when she saw him, her face lit up with a warm, sleepy smile.“Evan,” she murmured, her voice thick with affection, “you’re home.”Evan sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting lightly on her arm. “Missed you,” he said simply, reaching into the paper bag. He pulled out a small box adorned with a delicate ribbon and handed it to her. “For you.”Millie’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she sat up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She took the box, her fingers tracing the ribbon before untying it carefully. Inside was a smaller

Don Gustavo sat in his bedroom in the villa, the morning light filtering through heavy curtains, casting stripes across the dark wood floor. The room smelled of coffee and old leather, a half-empty cup steaming on the bedside table.He leaned back in a cushioned chair, robe loose over his shoulders, flipping through a ledger when his assistant, a wiry man with a clipped beard, knocked and stepped in.“Sir, you have deliveries,” the assistant said, his voice hesitant. “Two coffins.”Gustavo’s eyes flicked up, a grin tugging at his lips. “Coffins? Bring them to my office.”The assistant nodded and slipped out. Gustavo set the ledger down, pulled on his robe, tightened the belt, and strode down the hall, his slippers scuffing the polished floor. The villa was quiet, its high ceilings and marble walls muffling the footsteps of his men patrolling outside. The office, a wide room with a mahogany desk and shelves of leather-bound books, waited at the end of the corridor. Two coffins sat in t