Contract with the Cold-Hearted Mafia Boss のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Salvatore's POVRuggero arrived at noon with enough gifts to furnish a small armory.Three Berettas in velvet-lined cases. A sapphire necklace that caught the light like frozen Mediterranean water. Two bottles of aged Amarone from his private cellar.I remained seated as Marco escorted him into the suite's sitting room."Salvatore, my friend." Ruggero spread his massive hands in a gesture of supplication. "I come to offer my deepest apologies for yesterday's... unpleasantness.""Unpleasantness," I repeated."The Torrino boy acted without my knowledge or authorization. When I learned that one of my people had been surveilling you, I was furious." He shook his head with apparent disgust. "I have already dealt with those responsible for this breach of trust. You have my word that nothing like this will happen again."I studied him in silence, letting the moment stretch uncomfortably. Ruggero was lying, of course. Giuseppe had been following his orders precisely. But calling him out direc

Lena's POVThe nightmare came for me again.I was back in Salvatore's hotel suite. Giuseppe's body lay in the corner, his eyes open and accusing. And Salvatore stood before me, his pistol raised."You thought you could run from me?"I tried to speak, to explain, to beg. But no sound came from my throat."There's nowhere you can go that I won't find you, Lena. You signed the contract. You belong to me."His finger tightened on the trigger.I woke gasping, my thin nightgown soaked with sweat. The small room at Pensione Rosa was dark, the only light coming from a sliver of moon through the curtained window. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. Then the memories flooded back—the escape, the ceramic shop, Signora Ferraro's weathered face.I was safe. For now.I sat up in the narrow bed, pressing my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. How had I gotten here? Three months ago, I had been a respectable art historian, married to a gentle man who painted beautiful things and brought me

Lena's POVThe first cut came without warning.The blade sliced through the flesh of my left forearm, and for a moment I felt nothing—just cold steel parting skin like butter. Then the pain exploded, white-hot and blinding, and I heard myself scream.Blood welled up immediately, a dark crimson line that spilled down my arm and dripped onto the steel table beneath me. The crowd roared their approval, their voices merging into a single hungry sound that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls."Beautiful," someone said. "Like watching art being created."I couldn't see who was cutting me. They had strapped me face-up on the table, my wrists and ankles bound with leather restraints that bit into my skin whenever I struggled. All I could see was the rough stone ceiling above me, the bare bulbs swinging slightly in some unfelt draft, and the faces of monsters pressing closer for a better view.Another cut. This one on my right arm, longer and deeper than the first.Blood pooled beneath m

Lena's POVI had no answer to his question.The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. My bandaged arm throbbed beneath the hospital sheets.But the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight of Salvatore's accusation."I asked you a question, Lena."His voice was low, dangerous. The same tone I had heard in that hotel suite when he interrogated Giuseppe. The same cold fury that preceded violence."No," I whispered finally. "It wasn't worth it.""Then why?"Because I saw you kill a man without hesitation. Because I realized that every moment I spent by your side pulled me deeper into a darkness I never knew existed. Because I was terrified that one day, I would become like you—cold, calculating, capable of anything.But I couldn't say those words. Not while his dark green eyes burned into mine with barely contained rage."I was scared," I said instead. "After Giuseppe... after what you did to him... I panicked.""You panicked." He repeated the words. "You panicked,

Lena's POVSeven days.Seven days of nurses changing my bandages, doctors examining my wounds, and guards stationed outside my door.On the morning of the eighth day, Marco appeared in my doorway."We're leaving for New York in two hours. Can you walk?"I could. Barely. The wounds on my arm and thigh had begun to heal, though the doctors warned me the scars would be permanent. Small price to pay for keeping my life, I supposed.Teresa helped me dress in simple clothes that had been delivered to my room—loose cotton pants that wouldn't press against my thigh, a soft blouse with sleeves long enough to cover my bandaged arm. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.Pale. Thin. Haunted.I turned away.---The private airstrip was small, tucked away in the Sicilian countryside far from prying eyes. A sleek jet waited on the tarmac, its engines already humming in preparation for departure. Several black SUVs were parked nearby, men in dark suits moving