Semua Bab THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Marco's POVI opened my eyes and took in the environment, my eyes looked around and there was Dante, He had taken off his coat. He sat in a wooden chair, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He was watching me. His eyes were tired. The hard, cold mask was gone. He just looked... there.He saw my eyes were open. He didn't move."You have a fever," he said. His voice was quiet. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel either. It was just a fact.I tried to speak, but my throat was a desert. All that came out was a dry crackle.He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. He didn't hand it to me. He held it to my lips. His other hand came behind my head, lifting it gently."Drink. Slowly."The water was the most amazing thing I had ever tasted. It was cool and clean. I drank, my eyes locked on his. He was so close. I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the dark stubble on his jaw. He looked human.When I finished, he lowered my head back to the pillow. He put the glass

Dante's POVPain was an old friend. It radiated from my knee, a deep, familiar throb from an injury a rival's bullet had gifted me years ago. The crash had woken the old demon. But the pain in my leg was a simple, clean thing. The other feeling was a tangled mess.I watched him from the corner of my eye as the van rattled through the night. Marco. Curled against the opposite wall, trying to make himself small. His face was pale, smudged with dirt, his eyes wide and shell-shocked.He had saved me.The thought was a splinter in my mind, sharp and uncomfortable. On that cliff edge, with the void yawning beneath me, I had seen the calculation in his eyes. I had seen the moment he realized he could be free. I had prepared for the fall.But his hand had held firm. His slight body had anchored mine. He had pulled.Why?He was a liability. A scared, pretty boy from a soft world. He cried in cellars and froze in gunfights. He was everything I despised.And yet.He moved then, shuffling across

Marcos POVWatching him walk away, with my hand still tingling from where it had touched his face. I felt like I was waking up from a dream. From a nightmare? Or from the only real thing in my life?Standing there, frozen, as he limped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch felt final, like a door closing not just on the room, but on something fragile and new.Forcung myself to move, I went to the kitchenette and found a glass, filling it with water. I drank it in big gulps, the coolness soothing my dry throat. Then I refilled it and went to the bedroom door. My hand hesitated over the knob. What was I doing?Knocking softly. “Dante? May I come in?”Silence. Then, a gruff, “Do what you want.”I turned the handle and pushed the door open. He was sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, one leg stretched out. His jacket was off, tossed over a chair. The shirt was gone, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, crisscrossed with scars. He look

Marco’s POVDante was asleep. Or pretending to be. His breathing was steady, but his fingers twitched against the sheets, as though he was fighting ghosts even in dreams. Laying beside him, and staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks with my eyes. They looked like maps of places I’d never been, or maybe the paths I’d taken to end up here, laying beside the man I’d once sworn to hate.At some point, he stirred. “You’re awake,” he murmured.“So are you,” I replied quietly.His eyes opened, catching the dim light from the lamp. “You think too loudly,” he said, half a smirk curling his mouth.Turning toward him, I said, “Do you ever stop watching me?”“Not when you look like you’re planning to disappear.”“I’m not.”He raised a brow. “You were, once upon a time.”That stung, not because it wasn’t true, but because he remembered. “Things change,” I said.He studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “You saved my life, Marco. That doesn’t mean you trust me. I know the difference.”I wa

Lorenzo’s POVHe hadn’t changed, not where it mattered. The same posture, half-ready to strike, half-ready to bolt. I could still read the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched near the holster. Ten years and Dante still looked at me like I was a loaded gun he couldn’t decide whether to aim or unload.The room emptied after I signaled my men out. Marco stayed close to him, with eyes darting everywhere.“You’re working for Powell now,” Dante said, voice low. Not a question. A wound reopened.Turning away to pour myself a drink, l let the silence stretch. “Working with him,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”He laughed, “That’s what you told yourself back in Milan, right before you sold me out, remember?”The whiskey burned down my throat. “You make it sound so simple.”In truth, it had never been simple. Back then, we’d been two wolves pretending to be human — running jobs in the south ports, trading lives for intel, kissing between ambushes as if the