The Mafia King’s Queen のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

RoccoI watched her.Fiorella stood over Vittorio, her expression neutral as his blood spread onto the ground. She had not said a word for the last couple of minutes, watching him twist, watching him break. There was no hesitating in what she did, no second-guessing. Just precision. Just control.She was queen among her people.And I was sure of one thing—I wasn't losing her again.I stepped closer, resting a hand on her lower back, grounding her. "Come with me," I breathed.She didn't turn, still staring down at Vittorio. "Where?""To the estate." I caught her gaze when she finally met mine. "Stay with me."There was a moment of hesitation, but I saw the decision flash through her eyes before she'd even spoken. "Alright."It was the only answer I needed.The ride home was quiet, but not tense. She was lost in thought—I could tell from her tapping her nails on the car door, her eyes spaced out.Then, as if she had made up her mind, she pulled out her phone and called."Leo," she said

RoccoThe city stretched out before us, glittering against the velvet night sky. From the penthouse, the world seemed distant—like it belonged to someone else entirely. But tonight, none of it mattered. Tonight, it was just her and me.Fiorella sat across from me, candlelight falling across her face in golden shadows. She was beautiful, as always, but this evening there was a more relaxed quality to her. Tranquil. As if the weight of history had finally been lifted off her shoulders.Dinner had been slow, intimate—just the two of us, a stolen moment away from the world. I had planned every detail with care. The wine she loved, the soft violin music whispering in the background, the private chef who had prepared each course to perfection. But now, with the plates cleared and the night ahead of us, my heart pounded with a different kind of anticipation.I extended my hand toward the glass, but my fingers curled around instead for the tiny velvet case hidden in my pocket. I'd rehearsed a

FiorellaThe tone stuck in my ear, cold and mocking, promising an end before anything had a chance to begin. But I did not let Rocco see the way my hand trembled when I ended it. I did not pick. I pressed the red button and let the call time out, the screen going black.Not tonight. Whoever it was, whatever lurked in the shadows, they could wait until dawn. Tonight was ours. Was mine.I put the phone back in my pocket , before I turned back to Rocco. His sharp eyes caught mine immediately, scanning my face for something, as if he could sense the storm raging behind my ribs. I smiled, a genuine smile this time, because I was adamant not to let our enemies enjoy taking even a second of this night from us."Where were we?" I whispered, moving closer to fill the space between us.He didn't hesitate. His arms came around me, pulling me into that cage of strength and heat I had come to crave more than I craved air itself. For a moment, I buried my face on his chest, inhaling the smell of sm

RoccoMorning came too quickly. Pale light streamed through the curtains, highlighting Fiorella's hair where it spilled across my chest. I lay for a while, fingers stroking through the silky tresses, not wishing to move, not wishing for the world outside our room to start spinning again. The night before had been laughter, kisses, promises whispered over popcorn and champagne. I wanted more of that. I wanted a lifetime of that.Then the shrill ring of my phone destroyed the peace.I pulled it from the nightstand, not wanting to wake her, but she moved anyway, burrowing closer to me with a gentle sigh. My eyes fell to the message on the screen, and the seriousness of it landed in my stomach like a stone.Rafael: Get home. Now. Something's happened.No explanation. No detail. Only urgency. My brother wasn't one to waste words, but this, this was different.I stared at the message longer than I should've, my jaw tight. Something in me screamed that whatever was at the family estate wasn'

FiorellaThe garden below was laid out and tended, the roses my father had planted several years back nodding gently in the evening wind. I leaned against the balcony railing, the metal cool and digging into my palms as I looked down over the lands that had been mine to protect, mine to rule, long before I was ready. The house was imprinted with his presence everywhere, even now, months after his death. His voice could still be heard in these walls, in the way the staff carried themselves, in the whispers of old men in the town who had served him. And yet, he was no more.It was not supposed to be this way. My father was meant to grow old here, preside over my wedding table, glass held high in a toast, eyes gleaming with pride. He was meant to tease me about finally being caught by someone, walk me down an aisle not drenched in blood but in blossoms. Instead, he had been gone too early, ripped from my life by treachery, and now the stillness of his absence was heavier than the evening