Todos os capítulos de The Mafia's Lost Queen: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

AriaI bit down on my finger, staring at Ethan like he’d spoken another language.“What do you mean?” My voice came out thin. “Say it again.”Ethan dragged a hand down his face, exhausted. “Damiano has connections we don’t,” he said quietly. “The kind that doesn't leave paper trails.”“There has to be another way,” I snapped. “There has to be.” My chest tightened. “I can’t keep doing this, Ethan. I can’t stay there. Telling Damiano will ruin everything.”He looked at me then, really looked at me and his voice hardened. “And losing everything our parents built won’t?”The words landed like a slap.“They worked their whole lives for that industry,” he continued. “Years of sacrifice. Sleepless nights. You want to walk away from that because you’re scared?”“I’m not scared,” I shot back. “I’m trapped.”Ethan exhaled slowly. “Sometimes survival means choosing the lesser hell.”I turned away, my vision blurring. I hated that he was right.The hospital room suddenly felt too small.Mom sat o

AriaI backed away from the balcony, one hand pressed against my chest. Rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier until its sound swallowed my breathing. Damiano’s voice echoed in my head, “Once the child is born, she’ll be dealt with for good, no one will suspect, her death will be natural.” My head spun.“The nausea came fast, shaking, choking. I ran to the bathroom, barely reaching the sink before my stomach heaved. When it was over, I stared into the mirror, hair clinging to my face, eyes red and hollow.“Isabella will raise the child as the mother. That’s the only way I can secure my place in the sovereign circle.”That was the moment I understood, I wasn’t a wife. I was a walking contract carrying his blood, and when the contract expires, so would I.I slid down against the wall and curled into myself, the cold tile biting into my skin. Tears flowed down, not because I loved him. But because I hated that part of me still wanted to believe there was something human behind

AriaI hid in the bathroom, kneeling on the cold marble floor as I tucked the small bundle of money beneath the loose tile.Every sound made my heart pound.The groan of the pipes, the distant hum of the generator. A soft footstep somewhere down the hall.I pressed the tile back into place, smoothing my palm over it until it looked ordinary.Then I heard his footsteps.“No, No, No,” The handle turned.I barely had time to rise before the door opened.Damiano stood at the doorway, tall. His gaze sweeping the room in one slow scan before landing on me. “What are you doing?”“Cleaning,” I said, gripping the edge of the sink hard enough that my knuckles whitened.His eyes dropped to the floor, to my hands, then lifted to my face.For one horrible second, I was sure he’d noticed the faint uneven edge of the tile.He stepped closer.His scent wrapped around me, smoke, cedar, danger, pulling memories I didn’t want to remember.“You look pale,” he said quietly. “Are you unwell?”“I’m fine.” I

DamianoThey told me she was dead.The report came at dawn, an explosion near the southern bridge. The vehicle burned beyond recognition. No survivors.The remains were unidentifiable.Her necklace was recovered from the wreckage.I stood before the twisted metal for a long time, my hands clasped behind my back.I felt nothing.Not grief. Not relief. Nothing at all.“She made her choice,” I said finally.The men nodded, waiting for orders.I turned away from the wreck and walked back to the car.“Boss?” one of the men called behind me.I didn’t stop.Gravel crunched under my shoes. The air still smelled like smoke and melted rubber. Dawn light crept over the bridge, like nothing important had happened here.“Should we send the remains for further testing?” another asked carefully. “Dental records, maybe…”“No,” I said. My voice came out flat. Final.They fell silent immediately.I slid into the back seat. The door shut with a dull thud, sealing out the smell of ash.“Back to the mansi

Aria A WEEK LATER.In ParisThe world had changed, or maybe i had changed.Paris felt like another planet, louder, brighter. Alive in ways Italy had never been.The colors here didn’t bleed red. No locked doors, no guards watching my every breath. Just people, laughing, arguing, living free.For the first time in days, I walked down a street without looking over my shoulder. And it terrified me how light my chest felt.Dr. Vieri had kept his promise completely. My new passport lay open on the small wooden table in my apartment.Name: Elena ValeI whispered it under my breath. “Elena.” The name didn’t hurt, that was enough.My new apartment is tiny, one bedroom, one bathroom and a crooked window that let in too much morning light.But downstairs, there's a bakery.Every morning the smell of sugar and butter drifted through the floorboards. Sometimes the scent woke me before Arthur do.He slept beside me now, wrapped in a pale blanket, his tiny fist curled near his cheek.I brushed my