Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Marco's POVThe door to my room wasn’t locked.I found that out an hour after Dante left me alone. I’d paced for ten minutes, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, before I finally tried the handle. It turned smoothly. No guard stood outside.It was a test. It had to be. A way to see what I would do.I stood in the doorway, staring down the empty, elegant hallway. I could run. Right now. But to where? I was in the middle of the Italian countryside, surrounded by Dante’s men. I had no money, no phone, and a face that was now all over the news.The photo. My father had seen it. The whole world had seen it. The thought made my stomach twist into a sick knot. They all thought this was my choice. That I had willingly married the monster who held me at gunpoint.I stepped back into the room and closed the door, leaning against it. Running was suicide. I had to be smarter.The door opened behind me, making me jump away. Dante stood there, holding a small tray with a bowl of soup a

Marco's pov “To punish your father,” Leo said, his eyes cold. “And to punish Dante. They will hurt you. Very much.”A new kind of fear, sharp and icy, pierced through me. It wasn't just Dante anymore. There were worse monsters out there.“So my father… he is leading them right to me?” The words felt stupid and slow.“Yes,” Dante said. He took a sip of his wine. “He thinks he is saving you. He is signing your death paper.”Panic seized me. It was a trap, and my own father was walking us both into it. “You have to stop him!” I heard myself beg. “Call him! Tell him to stop!”Dante’s lips curled into a thin smile. “And say what? He will not listen to me. He thinks I am his enemy.”“Then what do we do?” The ‘we’ slipped out. I was so scared I was starting to see Dante as the only solid thing in a crumbling world.“We wait,” Silvio said, his voice like a razor. “Let the Russians come. We will be ready.”“No!” The word was a gasp. I looked at Dante, desperate. “There has to be another way.”

It was a large, spacious chamber, dominated by a wide bed with a dark wood frame. The windows were open, the night breeze stirring the curtains, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the gardens below. A single lamp on a bedside table cast a soft, golden glow.I felt Marco tense beside me as he took it in. His eyes went to the bed, then quickly away, a flush creeping up his neck. He understood.I finally released his hand, and he immediately wrapped his arms around himself, a defensive gesture.“This is your room,” he stated, his voice barely a whisper.“It is,” I confirmed, walking further into the room. I poured two glasses of water from a crystal carafe on a side table. I held one out to him. “It is the most secure room in the house. No one enters this wing without my permission. You will be safe here.”He took the glass, his fingers brushing against mine. A small, electric contact. He didn’t drink, just held the cool crystal.“Safe from everyone but you,” he said, his

Marco's pov The first light of dawn was a pale thief, stealing the darkness and leaving me naked on a new, terrible day. I felt the warmth of the bed before I remembered where I was. Who I was with.I kept my eyes closed, pretending. Pretending I was home. Pretending the heavy weight in the air was just a bad dream. But the smell was all wrong. It wasn't my clean, sterile room. It was him. Leather, expensive soap, and something else… something dark and male that was now stuck in my nose, on my skin, inside me.I heard him move. A soft shift of weight, the quiet sound of fabric. I cracked my eyes open just enough to see him standing by the window, his back to me. The early light painted his shoulders and back, making the scars there look like old, silver maps of pain. He owned the view outside. He owned the room. And after last night, I knew he believed he owned me.My body felt strange. Used. Sore in places I didn't know could feel that way. A hollow ache had taken root deep in my st

Marco's pov The world exploded into noise and flying glass. A heavy body slammed into me, shoving me to the floor. Dante. The air left my lungs in a painful rush. The sharp, acrid smell of gunfire filled the room.From under the table, I saw the old man slump forward, his face a mask of red. Dante was on top of me, a solid, unmovable weight. His gun was in his hand, firing back toward the window. The shots were deafening."Rico!" Dante roared.More gunfire answered from outside the restaurant. Rico and the driver were fighting back.Dante shifted his weight, his face inches from mine. His eyes were like shattered ice. "Do not move," he snarled.He rolled off me, using the table for cover as he fired again. A man in black crashed through the ruined window, and Dante's bullet caught him in the chest. He fell without a sound.It was over as quickly as it began. The gunfire from outside stopped. The only sounds were my ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.Dante stood up, his ches