All Chapters of Claimed By My Ex’s Mafia Father in-law : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Chapter ElevenElena’s POVSandra’s lips trembled for a moment, like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Then she drew in another long pull of smoke from her vape and exhaled slowly, letting the sweet haze curl toward the ceiling.“Elena,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not just some student juggling shifts at coffee shops like everyone thinks. I’m… a midnight ballerina.”My brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”Her eyes darted to mine, then away. A faint, almost bitter smile tugged at her lips. “It means I’m a stripper.”The words landed like a slap. For a moment I just sat there, frozen.“A stripper?” I repeated, half-whispering, half-gasping.“Yes.” She didn’t flinch. She said it with the calm of someone who had long since buried her shame. “That’s how I pay for school. That’s how I take care of Grandma. That’s how we keep this house. You think tuition at our school comes cheap? You think electricity and medicine for an old woman pays for i

Chapter ThirteenElena’s POVThe world was spinning, and the music inside BLK Woods Bar pounded like a drum in my chest. The crowd pressed close, their cheers still echoing from my performance. But now it was silent unnervingly silent as Luka’s laugh cut through everything.He laughed in my face. A cruel, mocking laugh that made my stomach twist.“You’re a slut,” he sneered, loud enough for everyone to hear. His words stung like whips. “And you’ve always been one.”The crowd chuckled nervously, eyes darting between us. My pulse raced.I turned sharply, smacking his hand off me. My palm stung, but it was worth it. My voice broke free, trembling but loud.“Why are you even here with another woman, Luka? You’re married! Or did you forget Sofia already?”Gasps rippled through the crowd.Luka hissed, his face tightening with anger. “Are you dumb? This is a man’s world. Women should know their place.” He leaned closer, his breath sour with liquor. “If you want to be part of my playthings,

Chapter FifteenValerio’s POVThe call ended with a click, silence settling heavy over the office.Half an hour earlier, the President of the country had been on the other end of the line, his tone deferential, calculated. Politicians always were. They thought they wielded power because of titles, votes, and cameras. But the truth was simple: power belonged to the man who could move money without blinking.And tonight, I had just closed a deal worth five hundred million dollars,500 million fucking dollars! I leaned back in my leather chair, the city lights spilling through the tall windows. My fingers tapped once against the mahogany desk, satisfaction threading through me like smoke.“Draft the contracts,” I told my lawyers, their suits stiff, their faces eager to please. “No loopholes. No mercy. Deliver them by dawn.”“Yes, Boss,” they chorused, gathering their files with shaky hands. They always looked nervous in my presence. Good. Fear kept men efficient.“Dismissed,” I said.

Chapter Seventeen Valerio’s POV Spider moved across the club floor with that half-nervous, half-dutiful expression etched on his face, the one that told me he was already rehearsing excuses if he failed. I could see him weaving through the haze of smoke and neon, his sharp suit cutting a line through the crowd. And then I saw her , Angel still collecting bills with trembling hands like some street girl who didn’t know she was standing in one of the most exclusive clubs in the entire state. It was almost laughable. People were paid to collect the money for dancers; she didn’t know that. She bent low, scooping up dollar bills from the stage floor as if she was desperate to keep every one, her golden hair brushing her cheeks. So silly. So naïve. Spider bent toward her, murmuring something. She hesitated. I saw her clutch the wad tighter against her chest. He gestured with his hand, sharp, insisting. She faltered, then slowly nodded and left the money behind. My chest tightened when s

Chapter Nineteen Elena’s POV My lungs burned. My chest heaved. Every step on the concrete scraped my bare soles raw. But I didn’t stop. The Maybach was still behind me, gliding like a shadow, its gold rims catching the early sun. Sleek. Silent. A predator stalking its prey. And I was the prey. “Keep running, Elena,” I muttered under my breath, clutching the wad of cursed money tighter under my arm. “Just keep running.” I darted left, down a narrow alley, praying it would spit me out somewhere crowded, somewhere safe. My flip-flops slapped the pavement, flimsy, useless. I turned another corner. And froze. The world tilted. My heart plummeted to my knees. Dead end. The walls loomed high, bricks worn with age, graffiti slashed across them like scars. No doors. No windows. No escape. The sound of tires crunching echoed closer. Slow. Deliberate. Mocking. I stumbled back until my spine hit the wall. My legs gave out, and I dropped to a crouch, arms over my head, covering my ear