Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Biker Mafia Stepbrother: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Candice’s P.O.V.The drive back to the villa was a blur of speed and fear, the van's tires screeching on the highway as Mantovani pushed the engine to its limit, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, and I sat in the passenger seat, my phone clutched in my hand, trying to call Mom but getting no answer, the signal dropping in and out like a cruel tease. Conti was in the back with Ryan, who was gagged and bound again, his eyes wide with terror, but I couldn't spare him a thought; all I could focus on was the image of the villa—our home, our fragile peace—under siege, and the war that had been simmering suddenly boiling over into something personal and devastating. Mantovani glanced at me, his voice steady but edged with worry, "We'll get there in time; Sanna has men holding the line, and your mom is tough, she'll be okay," and I nodded, wanting to believe him, but the intrigue of the mole's betrayal gnawed at me, making me que

Conti fell with a sickening shock, and the blood leeked over his shirt like red wine, and I screamed his name and sank to my knees beside him, my hands against the wound in his shoulder, and I could feel the warm stickiness run through my fingers at the first touch, and then Mantovani was there, and his gun was being leveled at the new traitor--Giovanni, one of the bodyguards, who had been with us since the start, and his face was drawn up in remorse and covetingness as he took the smoking pistol, and said, "The The war boomed out again within our house, bullets bouncing on walls, Sanna and the rest of the remaining loyal men fired back and Giovanni was forced to seek protection behind the overturned dining table and Mom seized a dropped gun, shaking in hands, but glaring, screaming, No one takes my family! and fired a shot before he could wring the trigger which cut Giovanni on the arm, causing him to scream with pain.Mantovani dragged Conti along a column and tore his own sh

Candice’s POVThe villa—our home, the place where Mom and I had rebuilt trust, where Mantovani and I had first confessed love on a moonlit piano—was engulfed in flames on that screen, and I felt my world fracture again, the war striking when we were halfway across the country, the sheriff’s revenge perfectly timed to split our forces and break our spirits. Dad’s apartment suddenly felt too small, the air thick with shock as Mantovani grabbed the phone, trying to call Sanna, Conti, anyone, but getting only static and voicemail, his face paling beneath the stubble, and I clutched Dad’s hand, promising him he was safe now, even as my own safety crumbled thousands of miles away. Mom sank into a chair, whispering, “We left them alone; this is my fault,” guilt eating at her, but Mantovani knelt in front of her, voice firm, “It’s the sheriff’s fault, Elena; we finish this for all of us,” and the passion in his eyes reignited our resolve, turning grief into action.We secured Dad in a safe lo

Candice's P.O.V.The phone message was like a threat in the dark van, and I shuddered with the words "bring the princess this night" and Mantovani, though the desert heat, grabbed it, and grew black with anger as he scanned encrypted messages, and found them plotting my abduction--roads, dates, even a picture of me at the villa garden--and the intrigue was going on, and I found the sheriff had eyes on the prize, and he may even have them with us at the moment. We galloped back to the cabin, where the tires kicked sand, and the voice of the Mantovani was deep, possessive, protective, and he said, "They will not touch you; I will die first, and I bent over him and kissed his knuckles as a seal on the promise. Mom greeted us with a face that was pasty with concern, and Sanna came behind her, with a slung arm, but with watching eyes, and when we crowded inside the door the shadow of the war was lengthening with each word of revelation.That afternoon we strengthened the cab

Candice’s P.O.VThe world slowed to a horrifying crawl as Mantovani fell, his body hitting the dirt with a thud that echoed in my chest like a death knell, blood blooming across his shirt from the sniper’s shot, and I screamed his name, the sound raw and primal, tearing from my throat as Aston’s knife pressed harder against my skin, the cold metal biting into my neck, drawing a thin line of warmth that trickled down my collarbone. The war raged around us—gunfire popping like fireworks in the night, our men charging forward, their faces twisted in fury and fear—but all I could see was Mantovani lying there, motionless, his green eyes staring blankly at the starlit sky, the passion we’d shared just hours ago in the cabin now a cruel memory flashing through my mind, his whispers of love, his hands on my body, the relatable ache of wanting him safe overriding everything else. Aston dragged me backward, his grip iron-tight around my waist, his breath hot and ragged in my ear as he hissed,