All Chapters of The Mafia King’s Queen : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

RoccoThe De Luca household was full of laughter when I came in, too full for the weight that pressed in my chest. The staff were getting ready for something in the downstairs, the scent of lemon and roasted garlic lingering in the air. Somewhere in the living room, Riccardo's thunderous laughter boomed too free, too damn easy.I followed the sound and found them all gathered around the long marble counter, Rafael at the head, reading a paper, Rosalia beside him, her fingers tracing through his hair. Riccardo leaned against the counter, cards spread out before him.“Finally,” Riccardo said when he spotted me. “We thought you’d decided to elope with Fiorella instead of showing up.”Rafael gave him a warning look but said nothing. Rosalia’s face lit up like sunlight breaking through clouds. “We were just talking about the engagement party,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s only a few days away.”Her voice carried that innocent excitement that used to make me feel lighter. Now it only pr

RoccoMorning slid in quietly, the kind of soft, gold light that dissolved everything it touched. It seeped across the curtains, extending out onto the tangled sheets around our legs, and for the first time in days, I didn't notice the pressure pressing down on my chest.Fiorella had me wrapped around her, head on my shoulder, one hand splashed across my chest as if staking claim on me even as I slept. Her hair brushed against my skin, silky and untamed, and the fragrance of her perfume and our night together reminding us why we still mattered.I did not want to move.I simply lay there, tracing the line of her shoulder with my thumb, memorizing the slow lift and fall of her breathing. The space between us was warm, no longer knotted with tension, but serene in a way that was new.As her eyelashes twitched, I pretended not to notice. She blinked, waking but half lost in the dream that had been going on in her head. Her lips opened, and that sweet smile, the one she didn't offer the wo

FiorellaThe drive home was quiet, the kind of silence that hums with things left unspoken. On the outside, the city passed by in a blur, streetlights gleaming against the glass, the faraway hum of engines beneath.He was frowning at nothing, his hand gripping the steering wheel, his other hand on my thigh. I could feel the storm roiling beneath his calm, the knot of tension in his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw whenever he exhaled.Finally, I reached out and placed my hand over his.His knuckles were clenched, veins tightened under his skin. "You're quiet," I breathed.He didn't look my way right away. "I'm thinking.""About the message?"His eyes cut to me, black and unreadable. "You heard."I hesitated, then nodded. "Not on purpose."Something in his face eased, just a little. "Of course not."The streetlamp lined the profile of his face, hard, beautiful, inflexible. I wanted to smoothen out the furrow between his brows, to slide my hand into the groove where all his restraint

RoccoThe De Luca estate was changed.Crystal chandeliers shined, pouring gold light over acres of manicured grass. A string quartet performed live beneath a rose-covered archway and velvet. Waiters in white and black glided like specters on silver trays, bearing champagne, oysters, and other snacks. It was a night for legends, a night that would be talked about for decades within the families' circles.The evening Fiorella and I became engaged.But the only thing I could think of,in my black tuxedo-clad self, was her.She wasn't here yet. And already, the whole world was talking about her in whispers, about the mysterious D'Angelo heiress, the woman who had somehow reduced me to melting. I allowed them to guess. Let them guess. Because none of their gossip could touch what was true, that she was more fire than flesh, more danger than beauty, and I would fight my way through hell itself to protect her."Rocco," Riccardo's voice sliced through my head, sharp and mischievous. "You'v

RoccoThe De Luca house was quiet, too quiet for a home that had, hours before, resounded with music, laughter, and champagne. The smell of blood lingered underneath the expensive cologne and spilled wine. Every noise, the echoing of feet down the hallway, the creaking of aging wood, was louder, more acute, more oppressive.I confronted one of my men. "Bring me all files we've got. I want his file, his handler, who he reported to, which shifts he worked. Everything.""Yes, sir.""And check if any of the others knew he was breached. I don't care how loyal they've been, nobody's clean until I say so."He nodded and left.I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. The night was supposed to be hers, ours. The engagement party, the laughter, the family. Instead, we left with blood on silk and betrayal on the floor.Fiorella's voice snapped the quiet. "You think he was honest when he said it wasn’t Phillipe?"Her tone was even, too even. The kind of even that came before fire.“It's possibl