All Chapters of The Mafia King’s Queen : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

FiorellaThe door closed quietly behind Rocco, and the room felt. emptier.I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as I faced my desk again, but I didn't sit. I couldn't. My body was too tightly wound, my mind too restless.Rocco had a talent for getting in my skin, making me question something I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't. The way he looked at me, with a look of intensity as if he saw something beyond another mafia princess attempting to hold her own ground. And worse? I hadn't resented him leaving.I should have told him to stay.But I didn't know how to request that.I stared at my phone, praying for some news about my father. Nothing. The silence was crushing.Twirling on my heel, I left my office, needing to do something, needing space to think. The house seemed too still. No matter how many guards I'd stationed outside, no matter how secure I'd closed it off, it wasn't the same without my father's presence ruling it.The sight of him lying there unconscious made my stomach

FiorellaGunpowder and blood filled the air of the night, mixed with the distant rumble of engines and the shattering impacts of bullets on stone. The Marchesi men were relentless, pouring over the estate like vermin, but they had underestimated us. They had underestimated me.My blade was dripping with blood, my breath steady amidst the chaos. I dodged a blow from one of Elio's men, landed a solid elbow to his jaw before slashing my blade across his throat. He gagged, stumbling back, and I barely spared him another glance as he hit the ground."Behind you!"Rocco's yell pierced the noise.I reacted instinctively, twisting just in time to knock a blow aside that was meant for my ribs. My attacker was bigger, stronger, but that didn't matter. I worked with his momentum, crouching low and slamming a knee into his belly before finishing him off with a cautious, precision thrust into the heart.A gunshot echoed to my left.Rocco had taken out one of their men before he could even reach me

FiorellaNothing could have prepared me for this.Not the years of training under my father’s watchful eye. Not the countless lessons in control, in power, in how to lead without letting emotions rule me. Not the blood I’d spilled, the lives I’d taken, the wars I’d won.Nothing.Because nothing in this world could have prepared me for the sight of my father’s lifeless body.I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.The world around me was closing in, the walls pressing in on me, crushing me under the weight of grief so deep it dragged me under. The air was heavy with the scent of gunpowder, and the coppery tang of blood. His blood.It wasn't supposed to go down like this.He was supposed to get better . To wake up. To stand up again and fight with me. I was supposed to prove to him I could do this war, that I wasn't a daughter who needed to be protected, but a warrior in my own right.Instead, he was dead.And I didn't know what to do.There was a buzzing in my ears that

FiorellaThe highway blurs past me as I drive, but I don't see it. My hands clench around the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache, but I don't loosen them. The silence inside the car is suffocating, but I don't play the radio. Nothing will shut out the emptiness tearing at my chest.I don't remember choosing to be here. My body chose for me, driving me to the one place the world can't find me. One of my dad's hideouts—one of ours, really. A place only the two of us knew.The moment I pull up, a wave of familiarity washes over me. The small cabin is tucked back, under the canopies of towering trees. It's old but sturdy, a cabin that always seemed untouched by time. I haven't visited since, and the last time I was here, my father was with me.And now, he never will be here with me again.I take a deep breath as I step out of the car. The night air is cool, crisp, but it does nothing to quench the fire raging inside me. I push open the door, and it's all just the same. The worn leat

FiorellaRocco.He slouched against his car, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes afire with an intensity that stopped my breath in its tracks. He didn't say anything, didn't run to me, didn't ask if I was okay, because he already knew I wasn't.I wasn't.The instant I saw him, something within me was twisted. The sorrow that had engulfed me since last night hadn't relaxed its hold, but now, in his eyes, it was heavier. Realer. As if going outside had made me realize the world still turned, even though mine had broken.I knew I looked terrible. My face was tight with dried tears, my body heavy with exhaustion. I hadn't slept—not really . The cabin had gotten small after a while, but going out into the fresh air did not bring relief I expected.Rocco did not look away.His eyes roamed over me, savoring every wrinkle, every unspoken idea. The tight jaw, the quivering fingers on his forearm—I knew him enough to recognize restraint when I saw it. He wanted to say something to me. May