All Chapters of The Mafia King and His Bride: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

* Miranda *I noticed the bag that looked small in Salvatore's hand, almost harmless. Cream-colored paper, the logo pressed in gold, something refined, and expensive. My fingers curled tighter around the fabric of my dress as he held it out to me like an offering.I smiled because that was what was expected of me. But deep inside, my chest felt too tight. I wished he had stayed longer in Brazil."A gift?" I said softly, as if surprised. As if I hadn't already learned that he gives out money like nothing. The old man is filthy rich and he is very generous."Open it," he urged, his voice warm and indulgent. Possessive in a way that made my spine stiffen.I glanced, just for a second, toward the hallway where Lorenzo had stood moments ago. He was already turning away, with his jaw tight, and shoulders rigid, as if leaving cost him something. Our eyes met briefly before he disappeared, and in that instant, something unspoken passed between us. A warning from him. Or a reminder of last nig

* Miranda *It was almost sundown when we came back. The house was quiet. As if the walls themselves had exhaled, or is it just me.Salvatore was already gone, his study lights off, his presence reduced to order and shadow. One of the maids mentioned it casually as she passed me in the corridor, as if it were nothing. A meeting out of town. He wouldn't be back until morning.Relief washed through me so fast it left me lightheaded.I retreated to my room early, locking the door behind me with a soft click that felt louder than it should have. Only then did I allow myself to breathe properly. I slipped out of my clothes, grabbed a warm shower and into a thin nightie, soft fabric that skimmed my skin, something meant for sleep, not for anyone's eyes.My phone buzzed on the bedside table. A message coming from Salvatore."Don't wait up. I'll see you in the morning. Rest well."I stared at the screen for a long second before setting it face-down. My fingers felt cold. I was brushing my hai

* Lorenzo * I woke before the light fully broke through the curtains. For half a second I tried to recall where I was and what happened the night before. Then reality slammed back in, the weight of my father's name, the room I should never have been in, the woman beside me who smelled like warmth and sin and something I would never be able to shake off from my system. Miranda slept on her side, lashes resting softly against her cheeks, lips parted just enough to make my chest tighten. She looked fragile like this. Peaceful is written on her sleeping face. And the thought about what my father would do to her in case he finds out scares the hell out of me. I slid out of bed quietly, every muscle aching with restraint now instead of desire. I dressed fast, picking up my jogger and the t-shirt that I wore from last night. This was how I survived, by switching off what I felt and becoming what was required. But Miranda, I must take care of her. Because I am sure about one thing, my

* Lorenzo *I waited until my father was pulled into a circle of men who spoke with their hands as much as their mouths. Power recognized power here, measured in silence, not volume. It gave me exactly what I needed.A sliver of absence. I moved through the lodge without haste, every step deliberate, every glance controlled. No one stopped me. They rarely did. I am Salvatore De Luca's son. The heir who watched and learned. The man who never interfered.Tonight, I choose to interfere.The corridor outside the ladies' room was quiet except for the distant hum of conversation and the low throb of music bleeding through the walls. I stood with my back to a column, a casual posture, pulse anything but.When the door opened, Miranda stepped out first, composed and beautiful, her calm expression still in place for anyone who might be watching.For a moment we simply looked at one another.Relief struck me harder than I expected. She was calm. Still steady. But I could see the hidden fear in

* Miranda *I haven't slept well, thinking that Salvatore could wake up at any moment, but thankfully he slept quietly and peacefully. From the comfort of the couch, I watch him until I briefly close my eyes and then it was already morning. It arrived like a quiet interrogation.The curtains were half drawn, pale light sliding across the carpet and up the carved legs of the bed where Salvatore still sat, already dressed, already composed. He watched me the way men like him observed storms, not with fear, but with calculation.I poured coffee into his cup with steady hands. I could still feel the echo of Lorenzo's touch on my skin, like warmth trapped beneath fabric. It made every movement deliberate, every breath measured.Salvatore lifted the cup, inhaled, then spoke without looking at me."What happened last night?"The question landed gently but I had to clear my throat before answering, making sure that the words came out smoothly because any mistake would make it dangerous for Lo