Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE MAFIA'S PRICE: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Then he pulled me against his side, arm around my shoulders, fingers idly tracing patterns on my thigh. “What other languages do you speak?” he asked, out of genuine curiosity.“Spanish, fluent. Mandarin, conversational but not perfect. Arabic… enough to negotiate and understand most business talk. Polish, my father thought it useful for Eastern European deals. And a handful of others, greetings, basic phrases. French, Italian, a little Korean.”He let out a low whistle. “Damn. Impressive.”The warmth in his voice faltered when my own mood shifted. “My father forced me to learn,” I admitted quietly. “Hired tutors from the time I was eight. Different languages every year. Said it made me more valuable… a better bargaining chip.”Dante’s arm tightened around me. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, tender and fierce. “Don’t talk about him.” His voice hardened, just a fraction. “He trained you well, and still underestimated you.” Then, softer, almost to himself: “Bastard.”I heard it. A sma

“Before the punishment begins,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “stand up and take off your clothes. Strip.”My breath caught. Heat bloomed low in my belly, instant and fierce. I was already feeling it, the slow throb between my thighs, the way my nipples had tightened under the soft fabric of his oversized sweater the moment he’d carried me up the stairs.I rose from the edge of the bed on unsteady legs. He didn’t move closer; he simply leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, watching me with that predatory patience that always made my pulse race.“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded.I did.I lifted the hem of the sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, and slowly pulled it over my head. The soft cotton dragged across my skin, raising goosebumps. My hair tumbled free, wild around my shoulders. I let the sweater fall to the floor.His gaze never wavered. It roamed, hungry, possessive over my bare shoulders, the swell of my breasts still covered by a thin lace bra, the dip of my waist.

I sipped my juice, watching him through the half-open partition. The way he moved, confident, commanding, yet never cruel. The way his men straightened when he spoke, listened without interrupting. The quiet respect they gave him.He was going to be a father. The ultrasound pictures were folded in my purse under the seat. I hadn’t told him yet. I wanted to, God, I wanted to.But every time I opened my mouth, fear stopped me. What if the life he’d chosen, the one he’d fought for, bled for, made him see a child as another weakness? Another target? What if he panicked? What if he pulled away? I pressed a hand to my stomach, still flat, no sign yet of life growing inside, five weeks, a tiny heartbeat I’d heard yesterday, our baby.He came back a few minutes later, sliding into the seat beside me again. He took my hand without a word, laced our fingers together, and stared out at the clouds rolling past the window.I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.And somewhere in the n

We ate slowly, conversation light. Haruto asked about our flight, about Dante’s recent deals in Europe. Sakura spoke mostly in Japanese to me, asking about my favorite foods, whether I liked tea or coffee, if I’d ever tried matcha ice cream. I answered in Japanese when I could, falling back to English when my vocabulary faltered. She laughed, soft, whenever I stumbled over a word, and corrected me gently.Dante watched it all with quiet amusement, asking questions through the interpreter when needed.When the last plate was cleared, Dante spoke to the interpreter. “Please tell Mr. Suzuki we’ll go to our hotel now, but we’ll be at the port before the agreed time tomorrow.”The interpreter relayed the message.Haruto shook his head, replying in Japanese. The interpreter translated: “Mr. Suzuki insists you stay here. You came to Tokyo because of him. It is only right that he hosts you under his roof and ensures your safety.” Sakura leaned toward me and added in Japanese, “Please stay. It

Haruto inspected each item personally, face impassive. When the last crate was resealed he turned to Dante and spoke in measured Japanese. The interpreter, standing a respectful distance away, translated immediately:“Everything is as agreed. Quality exceeds expectations.” He paused, allowing a small, satisfied smile. “The auction is scheduled for next weekend. You will receive full payment within eight days of closing.”Dante inclined his head. “Pleasure doing business, Suzuki-san.”A brief, formal handshake. Then, surprisingly, Haruto turned to me, bowed slightly deeper than protocol demanded, and spoke directly in Japanese. “Congratulations again on your condition. May your child bring you both strength and joy.”My heart stuttered. Sakura must have told him. I returned the bow, cheeks warming. “Thank you.”The tension of the deal dissolved like smoke. Haruto gestured toward the waiting cars. “Come. We celebrate.”Lunch was at a private ryokan overlooking the bay, low tables, cushi