All Chapters of The Mafia's Legend: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

hours earlier... extended version of chapter 40. (BONUS CHAPTER)The second I climbed into Alex’s car, I didn’t even bother buckling my seatbelt. Screw safety. Screw the rules. Screw everything.I just pressed my foot down on the gas and drove.Fast.Reckless.Stupid.The kind of speed that made the entire car vibrate and made my heartbeat throb in my ears. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Not when my mind was replaying the same scene over and over again like a movie I never asked to watch:Ace.In bed.With my sister.Or… fake in bed. Whatever the hell it was.I didn’t even know what hurt more — the betrayal I thought I saw, or the fact that it felt like my chest was being crushed every time I remembered the look on his face. Cold. Sharp. Cruel. Like I meant nothing.I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white.How could he do that?How could he even pretend?I felt my breathing catch in my throat, jagged and uneven, my chest heaving as if I’d run a marathon without ever

BONUS PART 2The room had been silent—well, as silent as it could be with Leo sighing every three seconds and me performing what was basically a private comedy show—when the door exploded open like it owed someone money.A man stumbled in, breathing hard, interrupting my Grammy-worthy performance of “Mad World.”(Which, honestly, was rude. I was hitting the high notes.)“Boss—” he panted.Leo didn’t even look up at first. “What?”“Ace De Santis is here. He killed everyone outside and—”He didn’t finish.Because his forehead erupted into a fine mist.For half a second, I didn’t move. No breath. No sound. No heartbeat.Just the ringing silence that comes after a gunshot in an enclosed space.The man’s body hit the ground like a puppet whose strings had been violently cut.My spine turned to ice.Oh no.Oh no no no no no.Because if the devil had a voice, it would sound like the one that echoed through that room next.“Well, Leo Ricci,” that familiar tone growled from the shadows—dark, f

bonuspart 2Ace’s arms were the only thing keeping me tethered to the world. Every step he took was a careful calculation, like he was balancing both my body and my fragile heartbeat. Outside the estate, the chaos had escalated, but I couldn’t focus on it. Sirens screamed somewhere in the distance. Gunfire crackled faintly behind us. I could feel my heartbeat thundering unevenly, each pulse a painful reminder of the bullet lodged in my side.But Ace… Ace was perfect. Solid. Focused. Dangerous in the most comforting way possible. He carried me like I weighed nothing, like my pain, my fear, my exhaustion could be held in his hands and shielded from the world.“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured over and over. His voice cracked in places, rough with panic and rage. “I’ve got you. Don’t you dare… don’t you dare leave me.”I pressed weakly against his chest, resting my head on his shoulder. The smell of him—cologne, gunpowder, sweat—filled my senses and kept me grounded. Somehow, in the midd

The moment my eyes locked on Daniella holding a gun to HER mother’s head, time slowed. Every second dragged. The world narrowed to the metallic glint of the barrel, the terrified flush on Melissa’s face, and the venomous smirk that Daniella wore like a crown.I didn’t think. I reacted.“My hand… moves, she dies,” Daniella hissed, pressing the gun harder against Melissa’s temple. Her eyes burned with malice, but I could see the tremor in her finger. Weakness. Hesitation.I stepped forward slowly, keeping my hands visible. I wanted everyone else to calm down, to give me a clear shot. Zayn and Alex had already read me—they shifted slightly, guns trained on Daniella, waiting for my signal.“Don’t. Move.” I said low, deadly, letting my voice carry all the weight of fury, pain, and rage.“Step aside, Ace,” Zayn muttered, but I shook my head. This was mine.“I’ll do it,” I said, and the word left my throat like fire. “One wrong move, and she dies. But you? You won’t get the chance to threate

I stood in Ace’s bedroom, surrounded by the faint scent of his cologne that always lingered in the air—something dark, woodsy, masculine enough to make my thoughts drift places they shouldn't when I needed to stay focused. His room was so painfully him: minimalistic, neat, dangerous in a quiet, controlled way. There were weapons placed strategically around the room, not out in the open but positioned where someone like me—someone who grew up learning to identify hidden compartments and shadows that weren’t just shadows—would notice them. Guns tucked into drawers, a knife hidden under his nightstand, another beneath the bed frame. All perfectly reachable. All perfectly Ace.And there I stood in the middle of it, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror near his wardrobe.I was supposed to be getting ready to go to my main house—the house I grew up in, the center of the American mafia, the place that raised me, trained me, shaped me into what I was today. And yet, despite my y