All Chapters of Caring For The Mafia Son: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

Rachel POVThe car was silent except for the hum of the engine and the sound of my own shaky breaths. I stared out the window, watching my old life blur away, until my tears finally exhausted me into a fitful sleep. I didn’t feel the car stop. I barely registered being guided through cold, echoing hallways. My last memory before true unconsciousness was the soft thud of a heavy door closing, sealing me in. —— My eyes fluttered open to a sensation of warmth and a bed far softer and richer than anything I’d ever slept on. For a brief moment, I sighed in relief, letting the comfort swallow me whole.Then my mind caught up with my body.This wasn’t my bed.The sheets were too silky, the room too quiet.I sat up sharply, heart pounding as I took in my surroundings. The room was enormous, bright, elegant, and utterly unfamiliar. Gold drapes framed tall windows. A chandelier glittered above me like a captive star.And then, the memories crashed down.The gun.The deal.Damien Montrel.

Rachel POV I tore through the large drawer, pushing aside endless layers of clothes before rushing across the room. My college books and worn textbooks sat stacked on the desk, waiting. I shoved them into my tote, a nervous excitement buzzing under my skin. My phone sat on the cosy, oversized bed, my father’s voice crackling through the speaker. “I hope he’s treating you well,” Dad said, his tone thick with worry. “I guess,” I murmured, grabbing my skirt and tugging it on. “He hasn’t done anything. In fact, I haven’t even seen him these past few days. He’s rarely around. Unlike his son.” “Son?” came my father’s confused reply. I let out a small, nervous laugh. “Apparently, the mafia king has a little boy. He calls me ‘Mama.’ It’s… strange.” The line went silent for a moment as I brushed my hair and sat at the vanity. My reflection looked composed—a stark lie my frantic pulse betrayed. “I-I’m sorry, Rachel,” Dad said suddenly, his voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”

Rachel POVI didn’t sleepHow could I?Locked in this room, guards posted outside my door, my phone taken… every choice had been ripped from my hands.By sunrise, I sat curled beside the window, staring at the horizon as tears slid silently down my cheeks. I kept wiping them away, as if hiding them would lessen the ache.I had truly sold myself to the Devil.And now I was trapped.A soft knock broke through my thoughts.“…Mama?”I turned.Leo peeked from the doorway, dressed in his blue pyjamas, a shy smile on his face. He slipped inside, his tiny hands twisting nervously.His eyes lifted to mine, wide and worried.“Did Papa make you sad?”The question cut straight through me. I walked toward him and knelt, pulling him into my arms.“No, sweetheart,” I whispered, a lie that my tears betrayed.He hugged me tighter, as if afraid letting go would make me disappear.After a moment, he tugged on my sleeve.“Do you want to go to the garden with me? Just me and you. Please?”I froze.Damien’

Rachel POV Warmth. Soft sheets. A faint, familiar cologne. My mind drifted in a hazy fog, caught between sleep and memory. My body felt heavy, limbs foreign. I breathed in shakily, my eyes fluttering open. Dim light from a bedside lamp painted soft shadows on the walls. This wasn’t my room. My chest tightened. Where was I? Then, it all slammed back into me. The alley. Rough hands grabbing me. The necklace being ripped Hot blood on my face A gunshot Damien’s icy voice The man falling My own scream I jerked upright with a sharp gasp. A shadow moved in the corner. My breath hitched. Panic exploded behind my ribs. Damien. He sat in a chair near the bed, his coat draped over the back, shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked exhausted, his expression unreadable, but the anger wasn't for me. Just the sight of him made my hands shake. I tried to sit up ta