All Chapters of THE MAFIA'S PRICE: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Tossed the phone onto the floor.Walked back to the bed where Alexei lay lifeless.I looked down at him, blood pooling around his head, mouth frozen in shock.“Killing you was so easy,” I said softly. “Like slaughtering a chicken. All that mouth… just for you to die like one.”I laughed low, bitter, and triumphant.“That’s how you always laughed at everybody, shitbag.”I turned.Opened the bedroom door.Stepped into the hallway.The hallway stretched ahead like a throat ready to swallow me whole, dim flickering lights casting long shadows on blood-splattered walls. Gunfire roared outside like thunder trapped in a bottle: sharp cracks, rapid bursts, the distant screams of men dying. My heart hammered so hard it felt like it would burst through my ribs, but I didn’t slow down. Dante was down here. Somewhere in this hell, he was waiting for me.I took the stairs two at a time, gun gripped tight in both hands, the push dagger on my waist. Liam’s men had arrived. They must be winning. And

The penthouse was wrapped in a fragile kind of peace three days after the nightmare at Alexei’s compound. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the marble floors in warm gold and making the city skyline below look almost gentle. I sat by Dante’s bedside in the master suite, legs tucked under me in the oversized armchair, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The bruises on his face had begun to fade from angry purple to softer yellow-green, and the worst of the cuts had been stitched and bandaged by the private doctor who visited twice daily. He still looked battered, but he was alive and fine.I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering on his warm skin. The quiet moments like this were the ones I clung to, the ones that reminded me why I had walked into hell with nothing but a blade and a prayer.A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door.I glanced at Dante, he was still deeply asleep, painkillers keeping

The penthouse bedroom was bathed in soft afternoon light when I woke up, my cheek pressed against the edge of the mattress where I had dozed off at the foot of the bed. My neck ached from the awkward angle, but the discomfort faded the instant I lifted my head and saw Dante awake, propped against the pillows, staring at me with that quiet, intense gaze that always made my heart stutter.He smiled small, tired, but real. “I saw how peacefully you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you, and I can’t carry you to a better position yet.”I sat up slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s fine. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep there.”Dante’s eyes softened. “I guess my dad and brother left already.”“Yes,” I said, standing and stretching my stiff limbs. “They didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Your dad said they’ll be back by the weekend.”He nodded, then glanced at the housekeeper who had quietly entered and was arranging a light lunch on the low table near the window, chicken br

The next morning arrived wrapped in soft winter sunlight that spilled through the penthouse windows like liquid gold. I woke up nestled against Dante’s side, his arm draped protectively over my waist even in sleep. His breathing was steadier now, the worst of the pain lines on his face softened by rest and medication. A few days had passed since the rescue, and while the bruises and cuts were still vivid, he looked more like himself, strong, determined.We had a hospital appointment today. Dante had insisted, refusing to wait even one more day to confirm the baby was safe after everything that had happened. His scars weren’t fully healed, but nothing could stop him when it came to protecting what was his.After a quiet breakfast of fruit, toast, and herbal tea, my stomach still sensitive but improving, we headed downstairs. Dante moved with careful steps, refusing the wheelchair the doctor had suggested, but he leaned on me just enough for me to feel useful. In the back seat of the ar

The penthouse was quiet in the way only a place holding its breath could be. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand resting protectively over the small swell of my stomach that had finally begun to show. Nine weeks had become ten. The city lights of Moscow glittered far below like scattered diamonds on black velvet, beautiful and indifferent. Behind me, Dante slept in the bedroom, his body still healing from the torture Alexei had inflicted. The bruises had faded to yellow, the stitches had come out, but the shadows in his eyes remained. I thought we had earned peace. I was wrong.The first sign came at 2:17 a.m. Dante’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. He answered it instantly, voice already sharp with command. I watched from the doorway as his expression darkened with every word. When he hung up, he looked at me with that cold, lethal calm I had come to recognize as the precursor to violence. “Kostin and Belinsky have formally allied,” he said. “They’ve brought in three