Semua Bab Enemies At The Altar : Bab 41 - Bab 50

Mia decided—very maturely—that she did not care.Not even a little.She repeated it to herself while brushing her teeth.While pulling on her clothes.While walking past the east wing and very deliberately not glancing toward Isabella’s room.I don’t care, she told her reflection.I’m married to Mark Romano against my will. I don’t get jealous. I get annoyed.Yes. Annoyed was the word.That was why she nearly jumped out of her skin when laughter echoed from the corridor.Soft. Familiar. Female.Mia froze mid-step.Isabella’s voice.And Mark’s.Her jaw clenched.Of course they were talking. Of course they sounded… easy. Like two people who shared history. Like two people who didn’t need to explain pauses or inside jokes.She took one step closer before catching herself.I don’t care.She took another anyway.Mark stood near the open door of the study, his posture relaxed in a way Mia had never seen around her. Isabella leaned against the desk, arms folded, smiling up at him like she kn

Mark didn’t stay where she left him.Confusion was a luxury he couldn’t afford—not in his life, not with Mia. So when she walked away, words still echoing between them like a half-drawn blade, he followed.“Mia.”She didn’t stop.Her footsteps were sharp against the marble, fury driving her forward. Mark lengthened his stride, catching her just as she reached the corridor leading to the west wing.“Mia,” he said again, firmer now. “We need to talk.”She spun on him so suddenly he nearly walked into her.“No, you need to stop following me,” she snapped.His jaw tightened. “Not until you explain what that meant.”“What what meant?”“You said you’re ‘trying not to fall.’” His voice dropped. “You don’t get to say something like that and walk away.”Her eyes flashed. “Watch me.”She tried to move past him. He stepped into her path, not touching her, but blocking her anyway.“You’re angry,” he said evenly. “I want to know why.”She laughed—short, sharp, bitter. “You really don’t?”He studie

The next day all Mafia's families where invited to a gala, and gala was everything Mia hated.Gold. Crystal. Music so smooth it felt like a lie.The Santori Ballroom glowed beneath cascading chandeliers, polished marble reflecting power and wealth in equal measure. Mafia families filled the space with tailored suits, jeweled gowns, and smiles sharp enough to cut. Alliances were whispered between sips of champagne. Threats were hidden behind laughter.And Mia stood in the middle of it all—on Mark’s arm.She hated how natural it felt.“Stand tall,” Mark murmured beside her, his hand firm at her lower back. “Eyes forward.”“I know how to walk,” she muttered.A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re doing fine.”She glanced up at him, irritated by the calm in his voice—and by the way her pulse quickened anyway.The dress Don Romano had chosen for her was deep red, silk clinging just enough to be dangerous. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Every step she took drew attention.Mark notic

The mansion was quieter than usual when they returned.Mia tried to tell herself it was relief, not dread, that made her chest tighten. But the tension in the air between her and Mark felt like a living thing, coiling and twisting as soon as the door shut behind them.Mark dropped his coat silently over the rack by the hallway. He didn’t look at her immediately, which only made her nerves jangle louder.“I saw the way you looked at her tonight,” he said finally, voice low. Not accusatory. Not harsh. Just… precise. Like a blade sliding through silk.Mia froze mid-step, hand on the railing leading upstairs. “I… what?”“You,” he repeated, stepping closer. “When Isabella praised me during dinner… the way you tensed, the way your jaw stiffened… don’t try to tell me you didn’t notice it yourself.”Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. She shook her head. “I… I wasn’t…”“Wasn’t what?” His dark eyes bored into hers. “Jealous?”“I’m not jealous,” she said firmly, and perhaps a little too qui

The night shattered without warning.Mia had just begun to drift into uneasy sleep when the first gunshot cracked through the estate—sharp, violent, unmistakable. Her eyes flew open as the second followed, closer this time. Screams echoed from the lower floors, boots pounding marble, alarms screaming to life.Her door burst open.“Up. Now.”Mark’s voice was steel, all hesitation stripped away.She barely had time to throw on a coat before his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her into the hallway. The mansion—usually polished and controlled—had turned into chaos. Guards shouted orders, gunfire rang out, glass shattered.“Who is it?” she gasped as they ran.“Doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “They knew where you were.”That chilled her more than the night air slicing across her skin.They took a back staircase, Mark shielding her body with his own, his gun drawn, eyes lethal and alert. A bullet ricocheted off the wall inches from her head. She cried out.Mark didn’t slow. He cursed once—