Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Mafia King’s Queen : Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

RoccoThe house was quiet, too quiet for the tension simmering under my skin. De Luca mansion nights used to hold a kind of cold elegance, but these days there was warmth buried somewhere in the walls: Rosalia's giggles drifting from the hall, Fiorella's soft voice when she visited, Rafael humming without realizing he was doing it.Tonight wasn’t warm.Tonight, the air felt like it was made of steel.The door to the study clicked shut behind me as I entered. Riccardo was already there, pacing like a caged panther. Rafael sat stiffly in Father's old leather chair, his jaw clenched, looking every inch the eldest brother who never asked for the position but carried it like a soldier.“Finally,” Riccardo muttered. “We can begin.”I sat down and stretched my shoulders. "You two look like you're waiting for an execution."“That’s the problem,” Rafael said, tapping a pen against the table. “We are. Ours.”He wasn’t exaggerating.The Valenti name was surfacing again, because of that idiot fat

RoccoThe night tasted like metal: cold, bitter, and full of the kind of stillness that only comes before a storm. I stood at the edge of the old shipyard, hidden beneath the rusted shadows of stacked containers, and watched as fog curled to the ground like it knew what was to come. Every instinct in my body was razor-sharp. Every breath controlled, measured.Camillo had taken the bait.He always did, when pride clouded his judgment.He was alive-barely-but the bastard was still moving, still clawing at the edges of our lives like a rabid dog desperate for one last bite. And tonight, finally, we were drawing the curtain closed.To my left was Riccardo, crouched low, silent tension emanating from his frame. His healing leg didn't slow him-if anything, it made him more vicious. Rafael stood on my right, calm but simmering, eyes narrowed at the gate like he could see the bloodshed on the horizon already.“The lookout just texted,” Riccardo murmured. “Two black SUVs. And a van. They’re pu

FiorellaLeo's name flashed across my phone, while I was in the middle of sorting documents on the dining table. I almost didn't answer, assuming it would be about checking in on my mother or reminding me of a delivery I'd forgotten. But the moment I picked up and heard his voice, everything inside me dropped.“Fiorella…” His breath hitched. “It’s Rocco. He’s…he’s in the hospital. He’s losing a lot of blood.”The room spun so fast, I had to grip the edge of the table."W-what?" The word scraped out of me. "No… Leo, what happened? What do you mean he's bleeding? What-where-"“I found out ten minutes ago. The doctors are working on him. Just get here, okay? Hurry.”He hung up.My knees buckled, and suddenly my bones dissolved. A second later, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear anything except the rush of my own pulse drowning every thought. Then the fear erupted-hot, sharp, suffocating.I took my bag with shaking hands, didn't even tell my mom where I was going, didn't bo

FiorellaThe car pulled up quietly in front of the estate, crunching the gravel in a manner that sounded like my heartbeat was echoing through it. My hands were still warm from holding Leo's, but already my mind was elsewhere-somewhere nearer, where Rocco waited, alive, safe. Finally, after the storm of the past weeks, after the bullets, the betrayal, the fear, the endless nights of wondering if I'd ever see him again, he was here.I didn't even notice the cold as I stepped out of the car, didn't notice the night air nipping at my cheeks as I made my way to the main entrance. My boots hit the pavement with purpose. My fingers itched for his touch, my chest ached to see his face, that one which haunted my dreams whenever he was away or in danger.The doors opened, and I didn't hesitate. I could see him immediately in the dim light of the hall-the way he leaned against the wall, eyes dark, scanning the room for any sign of threat, the rigid tension in his shoulders telling of the months

FiorellaThe boutique smelled of clean linen and expensive promise.The silk dresses stood in neat rows, their soft fabrics whispering against one another whenever the air-conditioning breathed. Chandeliers cast warm light across crystal mirrors; everything looked so dreamy, a scene lifted from a film. For a brief moment before fully stepping inside, I stood at the entrance, my hand lightly resting on the glass door as I let this image settle in.This is real.I really am here.I'm really about to get married.I could already hear Rosalia’s voice inside , excited, musical, maybe just a little too loud.“No, no, no, that one isn't Fiorella; it looks like something my grandmother would wear to church.”“If your grandmother wore Valentino,” Aria laughed.My mother's voice followed. Softer. Warm. "Don't exaggerate, Rosalia. It is very elegant."I let myself smile and finally stepped in.Three pairs of eyes turned toward me at once.Rosalia clapped her hands. “There she is! The future Mrs