บททั้งหมดของ 280 Days With The Mafia King: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Mariella’s POVThe silence of the mansion was different from the silence of the convent. In the convent, the stillness felt heavy, yes, but woven with the intentions of peace. Once Dante had dropped me at the door of my room, I collapsed onto the bed. I reached for the nightstand, my fingers trembling as they fumbled for the small, worn set of wooden rosary beads I had kept hidden in my palm since the ceremony. They were smooth, polished by years of my own nervous friction. I tried to begin the familiar rhythm—Hail Mary, full of grace, but the words stuck in my throat. How could I ask for grace when I was sitting in a room bought with blood? I had traded my freedom for a contract of 280 days, and today, I had almost died because of it.I closed my eyes, trying to center my spirit. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. But I did want. I wanted to be back in the laundry room, smelling of cheap soap and steam, far away from the "Black King" and his underlings. I wanted to know how

Mariella's POV Before I could say anything, Enzo slammed his hands against the table, making me flinch. He really did terrify me.He looked at me, then at Luciano, his eyes darting like a trapped animal."What the hell are you talking about?" Enzo flared up, his voice cracking with a sudden, violent defensiveness. He took a step closer, ignoring the protocol of silence. "Who do you think you are? You come in here, a girl who’s been here for just a couple of months, and you start pointing fingers? I’ve served the De Luca family for three years!""Back off, Enzo," Dante warned, his voice low and dangerous."No! I won't have some... some girl from a church lie about me!" Enzo shouted, his face turning a mottled red. "She’s crazy! Boss, you can’t listen to her! She doesn't know anything about this life!"Luciano didn't look at Enzo. He kept his eyes on me, his expression unreadable. He reached out, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "Mariella. Look at me."I forced myself to

Mariella's POV The hours bled into evening, and after spending my day in the library, still being under subtle surveillance, I retired to my bedroom. I stayed in the dark, not wanting to turn on the lights, until the door opened again.This time, it was Luciano.He looked different. The blazer was gone, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and there was a dark smear on his cuff that I knew wasn't ink. But his face wasn't the face of a man who had just spent hours in a torture chamber. He looked almost... satisfied."He talked," Luciano said, walking toward the small table in the center of the room. He set a heavy, leather-bound folder down. "You were right. It was the Moreni family. They paid him to leak the route. They wanted to end the De Luca line before it could even begin.""What will happen to him?" I asked, though I already knew the answer."He’s been dealt with," Luciano dismissed, as if he were talking about a broken piece of furniture. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on m

Mariella's POV The dinner was supposed to be a formal introduction, a way to cement my place in the De Luca household. Instead, it felt like I was thrown into a den of lions.I stood before the full-length mirror in my room, the diamond necklace Luciano had given me cold against my neck. I looked like a stranger. The cream-colored silk dress draped elegantly over my frame, hiding the slight, barely-there swell of my stomach, but it couldn't hide the hollow look in my eyes. I reached for my rosary on the vanity, but I hesitated. In this house, even a symbol of God felt like an admission of weakness."You look like you're going to a funeral," Glenda murmured from the doorway, her voice soft."I feel like I'm the one being buried," I replied, my voice shallow.The arrival of Marcello De Luca had changed the atmosphere. As I walked down the grand staircase toward the dining hall, I could feel his presence before I saw him. In the drawing room, Luciano stood by the hearth, a glass of win

Mariella's POV Luciano, being Luciano, did indeed leave without even attempting to talk to me. I know I shouldn't be disappointed after all, it is him at the end of the day, but it hurt. “How could he not even care that he had hurt me?” I muttered to myself. I sighed. I was the one expecting too much from someone who had zero feelings for me or for anyone, really. “Let's do something to keep ourselves busy,” I said, rubbing my belly.I spent most of the morning in the library, trying to find solace in the rows of books that didn't judge me. But the peace was gone. Every time a floorboard creaked or a shadow moved past, I thought it was her. I thought it was Sophia coming back to remind me how little I mattered.I found myself back at the shelf where I had found the Santini accounts. I wanted to shake off the thoughts that my father was a collaborator. I wanted to prove the vision wrong. He was a victim, I told myself, a mantra to drown out the memory of his voice in the vision. He