The Mafia King’s Queen のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

RoccoThe curtains were drawn, but pale gold light seeped through the seams, tracing down Fiorella's bare shoulder where she lay beside me, her hair a black coil across the pillow.She looked soft, unflustered by the turbulence of our lives. And I just lay there for a while, watching the rise and fall of her breaths.I leaned forward and ran my fingers over her hand. She shifted, not quite awake, mumbling my name in that half-awake voice that always left me stumbling."Sleep," I whispered, kissing her forehead.She made a gentle humming sound, her lips curving up into a shaky, half-asleep smile before she settled back into sleep.For a moment, I thought about staying. Wishing that what was outside this room didn't exist. But the world had a cruel way of reminding me that it always did.My phone on the bedside table pinged.Once.Then again.I lifted it to my eye, squinting away from the brightness of the screen. Rafael.Two words on the preview stopped the breath in my chest.We have

RoccoThe conference room was full of tension and hot coffee, thick with silence and unmet anger. Rafael sat at the head of the great oak table, drumming fingers on the smooth surface in that infuriatingly slow, deliberate rhythm that meant he was in intense thought. Riccardo lounged to his left, all cool on the surface but with that telltale glimmer of anger in his eyes that matched mine.The name Valenti hung in the air, smoke-like. Nobody had said it yet, but everybody had thought it.Rafael broke the quiet at last. "I've been thinking about this all night," he said, his tone even, measured. "The Valentis do nothing without a reason. They're not insane. Every blow is meant to infuriate or scold. That means they're still looking for payment."I clenched jaws in my chair. "Repayment for Antonio's lack of sense."He nodded. "Right. And whether we like it or not, we're in the middle. They don't care who pays whom. To them, a De Luca is in the equation now."Riccardo scoffed. "So what,

Fiorella Rocco hadn't spoken much since the day started. He'd been closed up in meetings with Riccardo and Rafael for hours, face tight, voice steady, but I could feel the control under his skin—the anger.When he finally showed up in our room that afternoon, the tension in his shoulders was all the information I needed."He's behind it," Rocco said flat out.I didn't need to ask who. Philippe.My uncle. My family. My enemy.The tone Rocco spoke in, I knew he'd reached his breaking point.And so had I.I stood up from the armchair, crossing the room slowly. "Then we don't sit back and wait for him to make the next move," I said, my voice low but slicing. "We take this war to his doorstep."Rocco eyed me for a long time, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You already got some plan brewing in that head of yours, don't you?""Of course I do."He released a dry, humorless smile. "Of course you do."We planned for the next two hours. Maps were spread across the table, laptops were open, phone

FiorellaThe house settled deep and slow into the evening's calm, after the night's turmoil. Inside, the corridors carried a whiff of smoke and cedar varnish, and the broken glass on the balcony had been swept away to leave cream pale smudges in the marble where the lights caught them.I was wrapped in one of Rocco's shirts on the couch in what was once the east wing sitting room. The cushions were still dusty with soot; someone had tossed a blanket over the back. My nurse had bandaged the shoulder cut earlier that day and jotted instructions in neat, businesslike handwriting. Leo would not budge, his voice a low, watchful guard. He lounged in the armchair like a nurse pretending to relax: eyes alert when I thought he slept, fingers tapping out a rhythm only he could hear.Rocco curled up on the floor in front of me, leaning against the sofa, a small, stubborn island of tranquility. He looked at me as men look at other men sleeping in war, not the soft, possessive look the world usua

RoccoThe rain started again when I stepped out of the car. Gentle mist flowed across the De Luca grounds, rounding the edges of the marble walls and creating an oily coating on the cobblestones in the pale morning light.I'd been up since morning. Fiorella hadn't slept at all, I knew that by the way she floated through the halls, quiet but disturbed, her mind a thousand miles ahead of now. She'd brushed off the message the night before as something about someone she didn't know, "N," but her eyes did not deceive.There was something about that message that got under her skin.And it got under mine too."Rocco?" Riccardo's voice was coming from behind me as he stepped out of his own car, trench coat flapping in the wind. "You sure you want to leave her alone now?""She's not alone," I said, closing the door behind me. "Leo's with her. And I told security to double up at the gates. She's under guard."Riccardo nodded, though the set of his jaw was still stubborn. "You still don't soun