The Mafia King’s Queen のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 181 - チャプター 185

Rocco Morning crept into the mansion on hesitant feet.It slipped through the sheer curtains, pale gold and shy, brushing the edges of the room as though unsure it was welcome. The city beneath me was beginning its daily hum, but up here, everything was still, suspended in a fragile kind of peace that had taken blood, sweat, and grief to earn.I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathing beside me.Now, Fiorella slept on her stomach, her cheek half-buried in my chest, her hand curved around my ribs like it belonged there. Even sleeping, she held on, her eyebrows smoothing only when her fingers grazed the bandage beneath the thin shirt I was wearing.A reminder that I was still healing.This was a reminder that I had almost left this world without saying everything to her.I shifted my head a little to the side and watched her. Haphazard strands of dark hair had come loose from her braid and now curled softly about her face. Her parted lips shaped small breath

RoccoIt looked different from up here.Not dangerous.Not like a battleground.Not like a place built on blood and deals and power.It looked… quiet. Soft. Almost gentle.The rooftop lights of the private lounge reflected onto the dark glass of skyscrapers, music echoing behind me in a low, steady hum as a warm breeze brushed against my neck. The kind that smelled faintly of citrus, leather, and expensive liquor.The chilled surface pressed against my palm as I rolled a glass between my fingers, feeling the condensation gather and slide. Surprisingly, my pulse was steady.Tomorrow , I was going to be a married man.It still felt so unreal, like the time I used to wear a coat that belonged to another life.“Are you going to stare at the skyline all night or are you finally going to admit you’re terrified?”Riccardo's voice was behind me, familiar, teasing. I didn't have to turn to know that grin was already on his face.“I'm not scared,” I said calmly. “I'm thinking.”“That’s worse.”

RoccoThe noise of the night faded in layers.Laughter blurred into music. Music into voices. Voices into echoes drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the estate. Even the champagne fizz seemed to soften, as though it too respected the moment, retreating back into silence.All that was left was her.Fiorella.My wife.The word had weight. Not the weight of a ring, or paper, or vows uttered beneath white flowers, but the kind of weight that settles into your bones and says this is real now. This is forever.She stood on the balcony of the bridal suite, her back to me, moonlight painted in silver over the lace of her gown. The train trailed behind her like a memory the ocean refused to take back. The night clung to her silhouette, but the moon found her anyway, as if even the sky needed to see her more clearly.The breeze brushed through her loose hair, whipping up strands like fingers reaching to touch her.I didn’t move at first.I just watched.Because I'd waited so long to be able