All Chapters of The Mafia's Substitute Bride: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

The days that followed her release from the station moved strangely slow and loud in her head, but also quick in the way everything kept happening. She stayed mostly indoors, definitely it wasn't out of fear or caution, but out of irritation. Matteo was gone, Bianca had stepped in as though she ran the police force, and everyone around her suddenly seemed so damn unsure of what to say. No one mentioned his name around her, no one brought up the questioning. It was like the entire thing had been swept under a rug she wasn’t allowed to touch. Like no one died, or no one really cared about it.They wouldn't even tell her how the investigation was going, how he died. At this point she was blind and deaf about the case in a away.Her new driver pulled the car to a slow crawl in front of a tall black gate. He looked at her through the rearview mirror like he was asking for permission to breathe. “You sure this is the place?” he asked quietly, adjusting his tie for the third time since they

Valentina wasn’t a morning person, but she still came downstairs earlier than usual that day. She hadn’t slept much—if at all. The house had been too still lately. Suddenly she noticed Matteo's absence. If he was here, she'd probably be thinking of ways to tell Lucas to fire him, that ia if he'd agree. She didn’t miss him—he’d never say that — but the difference was obvious, and she couldn’t ignore it, no matter how often she told herself he was probably just off pretending to follow Lucas’s orders the way he always did—or was it a leave — He never truly listened. Loyalty wasn’t something Matteo lived by. He smiled too much for someone in his position, spoke too freely in rooms and middle of people that weren’t meant for conversation, and joked at the wrong time—like silence was something he was allergic to, and he never saw anything wrong with gossiping about his superior.She was halfway through pouring coffee when the television—left on from the night before —changed tone. The anch

The rain hadn’t started, but the clouds looked like they were holding a grudge.Valentina sat back in the seat of the sleek black car as it turned the final corner toward the building. Her arms were crossed, legs tucked neatly to the side like she wasn’t entirely committed to stepping out yet. Her phone buzzed in her lap—another message from someone asking if she was “okay” or if she’d seen the morning coverage.She hadn’t responded to anyone, even the people she barely knew message her, she was sick with their fake sympathies. She hadn’t even looked in a mirror before leaving the house. The deal had been sitting in her drawer for three days, and she hadn’t even opened the attachment emailed to her after the first skim. But this morning after her small talk with Lucas and the news report, she was so done trying to manually keep her sanity in check.Because honestly, if she stayed home for one more second pacing that hallway, waiting for her father’s name to appear on a headline or Luc

Alecia had buried her face into the crook of her arm hours ago, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. The room had sunk into a silence that felt thick and suffocating, and it settled like a film over everything. The windows were open. The curtains shifted in the breeze, she knew it was going to rain.She wasn’t sure how long she’d been curled like that. Her arm had gone numb and her face was swollen and patchy with the last of her dried tears, unrecognizable in the faint reflection on the glass door. She felt weak.And the photo was still in her hand, and pressed into her palm like it had carved itself there.It hadn’t disappeared, no matter how many times she flipped it or looked away. No matter how long she squeezed her eyes shut. It existed—and so did everything it had pulled up from whatever place she’d spent years trying to lock away.FLASHBACKYEARS AGO…It was summer. The estate was tucked somewhere far off in the countryside, wide and sunbleached, meant to be peaceful. But to

Valentina’s heels were off before she made it out of the building. The last outfit change left a thin layer of shimmer across her collarbone and cheekbones — more glitter than glow at this point. A makeup assistant tried to dab her face one last time before she exited, but she waved her off without a word and kept walking. At this point it was too much. One more later of makeup and her face would fall.The sun was starting to go down, casting that golden hour photographers swore by. She didn’t care. She hadn’t cared since the second look. Maybe even before that. The day had blurred into a cycle of camera flashes, laughter, and stylists asking her to “just tilt a little more that way.” Her back ached from holding poses that didn’t feel natural, and her hands were still faintly stained from wiping under her eyes between takes.She definitely did not think this through.The pay, and need for escape enticed her.The parking lot behind the studio was mostly empty, except for a matte black