In love with my mafia uncle のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The weeks leading up to their wedding unfolded like a dream balanced on the edge of a blade. Invitations were whispered, passed hand to hand like secrets too delicate to be spoken aloud. Only a chosen few were called. Sajah kept the guest list tight, wary of every shadow, every whisper in the dark. Sophia pressed her lips thin at each arrangement, her silence sharp enough to cut. Love, she seemed to believe, could be questioned, delayed, even smothered—but not contained. At night, when the mansion fell silent and the world outside slept, Sajah and Kira planned in hushed voices. They spoke not only of flowers and vows but of escape routes through hidden doors, safe houses in far-off cities, contingency plans that sounded more like war maps than wedding preparations. It was not the language of ordinary lovers. It was the language of survival. One night, sprawled across his bed, tangled in his sheets, Kira rested her head against Sajah’s chest. The steady beat of his heart wa

The storm raged like a beast unchained, clawing at the shattered chapel with thunder and lightning. Stained glass lay in shards across the floor, catching sparks of fire from the broken candles as though even the remnants of beauty were bleeding. Kira knelt at the altar, her gown ruined, her hands drenched in blood that was not her own. Sajah’s body rested in her lap, his warmth slipping away too quickly. She pressed her ear against his chest, desperate for the rhythm that had once steadied her storms. Nothing. Her tears fell in silence at first, then came like rivers, soaking his lips, his wounds, his vows. “No,” she whispered, voice raw, trembling. “You don’t get to leave me. Not when we swore. Not when you promised me forever.” Around them, guests wept, some praying, others staring hollow-eyed at the broken altar that had been meant for celebration. But Kira’s world had narrowed to one truth: the man she loved was slipping through her fingers, and she could not—would not—le

The chapel lay half-ruined, a cathedral of broken vows. Lightning still laced the sky like the scars of something ancient, and the air tasted metallic and holy. The stained-glass had become confetti of colored light across the floor; the candles guttered, casting trembling shadows that looked like hands reaching for what had been lost. Kira knelt where Sajah had fallen, her palms trembling as they pressed into the cold stone. The world had narrowed to the size of that absence — to the empty space where his fingers had anchored hers, to the memory of his breath against her skin, to a promise spoken that now hung in smoke and ash. Each heartbeat echoed like a drumbeat for a life she was not yet ready to bury. She remembered, with a clarity that hurt, the softness of his hand as he had tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear on a rainy afternoon; the way he had kissed the hollow beneath her ear and murmured, “We’ll sign this with our scars.” Memory and present braided into one:

The laughter of children still floated through the orphanage yard when Victoria turned, her gaze drawn to a quiet corner beneath the wide shade of an almond tree. The evening light spilled gently across the ground, golden and soft, yet the small figure sitting there seemed untouched by it — a fragile shadow of silence among the noise.Victoria frowned slightly. A little girl sat alone on a low wooden bench, her tiny legs dangling, her hands folded on her lap. The other children were running around with chocolates and fruits, squealing with joy, but this one neither moved nor smiled. Her face was pale and still, her hair messy and uncombed. She looked too small to carry such loneliness.Victoria felt a tug inside her chest.She turned to one of the nuns standing nearby — an elderly woman with kind, lined eyes and a white veil pinned neatly under her chin.“Mother,” Victoria said softly, nodding toward the child. “Why is that little one sitting alone? Hasn’t she eaten or joined the othe

That night, Victoria lay awake, staring at the pale ceiling of her small room. The faint hum of the fan above her did little to quiet her thoughts. Her body was exhausted from the day’s work, but her mind refused to rest.Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her — little Katrina — sitting beneath that almond tree, clutching her broken doll as if it were the last piece of her world.Something about that child had reached inside her, pulling at the corners of her heart she thought were sealed forever.She turned restlessly on her bed, pressing the pillow against her chest. The image of those innocent eyes — so full of Sajah’s quiet fire — would not leave her.Days passed, but the feeling only grew stronger. Every morning, between kneading dough and tending to her small bakery, she caught herself wondering what Katrina was doing. Had she eaten? Was she still quiet and alone? Did she sleep through the night, or cry in the dark like Kira once did?The ache became a constant pulse beneat