Lahat ng Kabanata ng Fake Dating The Vicious Mafia Lord.: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

DeliaI stood in the middle of my room, staring at the closed door until my vision blurred. The silence of the villa was loud, heavy with the weight of things unsaid. My heart was a trapped bird, battering itself against my ribs.He knows. He has to know.The way he said "loyalty" sounded like a curse word wrapped in silk. I paced the length of the Persian rug, my mind racing through exit strategies. Should I call in sick? Tell him the Italian sun gave me a migraine? No. Leandro isn't the type to let a headache get in the way of his plans. Should I try to escape? I looked at the balcony. The drop was steep, and the olive groves were crawling with his men.Even if I made it past the perimeter, I couldn't leave Shawn and Carrie. They were the only reason I was in this mess. If Sebastian Callista hadn't threatened to turn their lives into a bloody mess, I would never have touched a burner phone. I wouldn’t even be here with a mafia Lord. I was a mole because I loved them. And now, I

DeliaThe next morning, the light spilling through the window was skeletal and cold, a harsh departure from the usual golden glow of the Tuscan sun.I sat on the edge of the bed, the heavy silk sheets tangled around my legs like a shroud. Leandro was gone. The space beside me was cold, the indentation on his pillow the only evidence he had been there at all.I felt sick. It wasn’t the physical ache of a common illness; it was the visceral, soul-rotting nausea that comes with a dying conscience.For months, I had been the perfect little mole. I had infiltrated Leandro’s life under Sebastian’s iron thumb, terrified that if I didn't feed him secrets, Shawn and Carrie would end up in a shallow ditch. But the landscape had shifted. Leandro hadn't just given me "pocket money"; he had showered me with life-changing sums for "accompanying him" and playing his "Queen."Under the covers, I checked my bank balance on my phone. I was rich—"never-work-again" rich. That was the problem. The money

LeandroThe flight back to New York was a funeral procession in the sky. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I just sat in the leather chair of the private jet, staring at the dark clouds outside the window.My hand, still wrapped in a makeshift bandage from where I’d crushed the wine glass, throbbed with every heartbeat. It was a good pain. It kept me grounded. It kept me from thinking about the empty seat beside me where she should have been.By the time we touched down at Teterboro, the sun hadn't even started to peek over the skyline. Matteo and Marco were already on their phones, barking orders to the crews waiting on the ground."You heard the Don!" Marco yelled into his receiver as we stepped off the plane into the biting New York air. "Everything. Every warehouse, every shipping container, every front company that Sebastian Callista even breathes on. I want it leveled. Now!"I got into the back of the armored SUV, the silence inside the vehicle heavy."Boss," Matteo said, lookin

DeliaThe air in the warehouse was a thick soup of gunpowder and screams. I huddled behind the wooden pallets, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every time a bullet hit the wood near my head, splinters rained down on me like sharp, wooden needles. I kept my eyes closed tight, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years."Sebastian! You’re done!"The voice boomed through the chaos. It wasn't Leandro’s—it was Lucas. He was raining lead from the SUV, pinning Sebastian’s men down. I saw my chance. I couldn't stay here in the middle of a war zone. I saw a small metal door at the back of the warehouse, a faint red 'Exit' sign flickering above it.I scrambled on my hands and knees, ignoring the pain as the concrete floor scraped my skin. I didn't look back. I just ran. I reached the door and threw it open, the cool night air hitting my face for a split second before the world went horribly wrong.Click.The sound of a gun cocking was louder than the battle inside. I

LeandroThe Gulfstream jet tore through the night sky toward Florida. I sat in the back, my eyes fixed on the digital map on the wall. A small red dot blipped over a patch of green wasteland, the sawgrass farm."Two hours left, Boss," Marco said, checking his watch. He was loading a heavy-duty assault rifle, the metallic clack-clack of the magazine seating echoing in the silent cabin. "We’re making good time. The boys in Miami have the air-boats ready. We hit that farm, we level it, we get her out."I didn't answer. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Delia’s face in that video, the way her eyes pleaded with me to stay away even as she was being broken."Don Leandro," Matteo said, sliding into the seat across from me. He held a laptop. "Something’s bothering me. I’ve been running the thermal scans on the coordinates Sebastian sent. It’s an old sawgrass farm, yeah. Abandoned in the nineties. Plenty of cover. But the heat signatures... they’re too perfect."I looked at the