Sold to the Mafia king のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 130

Lina’s POV The road home felt longer than it should have. Every step I took came faster than the last, my sandals slapping against the pavement in uneven rhythm. I didn't use the car in a haste. My chest burned, not from the pace, but from the way my thoughts kept colliding into each other—Ruciano, the report, the officers, Carlino— Rotha. My grip tightened around my phone. She locked herself in the bathroom. The words replayed over and over, each time sharper. By the time I reached the porch, my breath was already uneven. I didn’t bother slowing down. I pushed the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a loud clang. “Mom!” I called out as I hurried inside. The living room was a mess of tension. My mother stood near the hallway, wringing her hands, her face pale with worry. My father was pacing—actually pacing—like he couldn’t stand still long enough to think straight. And Erla— Erla sat curled up on the couch, her small fingers clutching the edge of a pillow lik

Lina’s POV The thought of bathing crossed my mind for half a second, just enough to feel ridiculous for even considering it, before I shoved it aside and yanked open my wardrobe. My hands moved faster than my thoughts, pulling out the first decent thing I saw. My fingers fumbled with the fabric as I dressed, my heart pounding too loud in my ears. We have him. The words replayed over and over. They had him. They had Ruciano. I dragged my hair into a loose tie, not caring how messy it looked, and rushed out of my room, my footsteps heavy against the stairs as I practically ran down. “Lina?” My mom’s voice cut through the air. She was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in a soapy water. The moment she saw me, she froze. Her expression shifted instantly—confusion at first, then fear settled in. “Why are you running like that?” she asked quickly, rinsing her hands in a hurry, soap still clinging to her fingers. “Mom, I’m being called at the station,” I said, grabbing my b

Lina’s POV I couldn’t move. I just stood there, staring at him like if I blinked too fast, he would disappear—or worse still, change into someone else entirely. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about it made sense. The resemblance wasn’t just close. It wasn’t similar. It wasn’t coincidence. It was exact. My chest rose sharply, but the air didn’t feel like it was reaching my lungs. The two men were talking, voices low, casual—but their words barely registered. It sounded distant, like they were speaking from the other end of a tunnel. All I could see… Was him. That face. That same face I had memorized years ago. “Excuse me, ma’am—” A hand touched my forearm. I snapped. “Don’t fucking touch me.” My voice came out sharp, edged with something raw. My arm jerked away like his skin had burned me. The man froze immediately, both hands shooting up in surrender. “Woah… okay,” he said quickly, eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was just asking—” “You can ask,” I cut in, my voi

Lina’s POV He didn’t reply. Not a single word. And somehow, that silence felt louder than anything he could have said. “I think you’re Carlino,” I murmured, my words slipping over each other as he steadied me. My fingers curled into his shirt like I needed something solid to prove he was real. “You are, aren’t you?” The world tilted again, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—firm, unyielding, like he wasn’t going to let me fall no matter how much I tried to. “Where are you taking me to, Carlino?” I asked, blinking up at him. My vision blurred at the edges, but his face… his face stayed frustratingly clear. “Huh? You think I don’t know?” No response. Just that same unreadable expression and that same quiet presence. “My heart tells me you’re Carlino,” I went on, my voice softening, cracking in places I couldn’t control. “And I love you. My heart can’t lie to me. It won’t lie to me.” A laugh burst out of me suddenly, too loud, too sharp. It echoed weirdly in my ow

Lina’s POV I turned on the bed, my eyes still closed, yet I was conscious enough to know I was awake. A dull pounding throbbed through my head, each pulse echoing like a ticking clock in my ears—slow, heavy, relentless. It felt like something was knocking from the inside, demanding attention I wasn’t ready to give. I shifted restlessly, turning from side to side, searching for a position that didn’t make the pain worse. Light streamed harshly against my eyelids, bright and unforgiving, forcing my eyes tightly shut. Even through the darkness, it burned. With a faint groan, I rolled to the other side, pulling the duvet slightly over my face as if that would block it out. Slowly, hesitantly, I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry. The ceiling above me wavered, spinning slightly before settling into place. My head felt unbearably heavy, like it didn’t belong to me, like it was too much to hold upright. The pain pressed down like a weight I couldn’t lift, suffocating and constant. Stil