Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Billionaire Ex Or My Mafia Bestie : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Chapter 2: The Ride HomeBella’s POVThe elevator doors slide shut with a soft hiss, sealing the three of us inside a mirrored cage hurtling downward.Victor left first—without another word, without looking back. Just a final, lingering glance at my mouth like he was already tasting the next time. The door to his suite closed behind him with the same quiet finality as a guillotine.Nico hasn’t spoken since he pulled his fingers from my skin.His hand is wrapped around my wrist now—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I feel every beat of his pulse against mine. He’s breathing too carefully. Too controlled. The kind of control that means something is about to snap.The mirrored walls throw our reflection back at us from every angle: me in emerald satin that’s wrinkled where Victor’s hands were, lips swollen and red, hair coming loose from its pins; Nico beside me—black suit still impeccable, but jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps under the skin. His eyes are fixed straight a

Bella’s POVSunlight slices through the blackout curtains like a blade—thin, merciless, cutting straight across my bare hip.I wake up sore in places I forgot could ache.My thighs are sticky. My core throbs with a dull, satisfied pulse. There’s a faint bruise blooming on the inside of my left breast where Nico sucked too hard, and another set of fingerprints wrapped around my upper arm like a bracelet he forgot to remove. The sheets smell of sex, rain, and him—leather, smoke, salt.He’s still inside me.Not fully hard anymore, but thick enough that every shallow breath I take reminds me he never pulled out after the second round. We’d collapsed sometime around three a.m., bodies tangled, his cock softening but refusing to leave. I’d fallen asleep with him draped over me like a living blanket, one arm locked around my waist, face buried in my neck.Now the arm is still there—possessive even in sleep.I shift slightly.He stirs. Tightens. A low, sleepy growl vibrates against my throat.

Bella’s POV The room turns into a live wire the second Nico sees us. Victor stands in front of me—still fully dressed except for the open fly he never bothered to zip back up, cock half-hard and glistening. I’m curled on the sectional, knees drawn to my chest, naked, skin flushed and marked, thighs slick with both of them. The air reeks of sex, rain, and rage. Nico’s gun is already raised—black steel steady, barrel trained center-mass on Victor’s chest. Victor doesn’t flinch. He just smiles. Slow. Taunting. “You’re late, Romano,” he says. Voice velvet over broken glass. “She already came twice more since you left. Screamed my name the second time.” Nico’s finger twitches on the trigger. I surge forward—naked, desperate—placing myself between the barrel and Victor’s heart. “Stop.” Nico’s eyes snap to me. Wild. Betrayed. Devastated. “You’re protecting him?” The word cracks. “After everything?” “I’m protecting both of you,” I say. Voice shaking. “Put the gun down, Nico. Plea

Bella’s POVThe first gunshot cracks the silence like thunder indoors.Glass shatters somewhere in the living room. Someone screams—maybe me, maybe not. The world narrows to motion and noise.Nico fires twice—controlled, precise—before the first intruder even clears the doorway. A body drops. Black tactical gear soaks red across the concrete.Victor shoves me behind the bed’s headboard. “Stay down!”I’m already scrambling for cover, naked skin scraping against cotton sheets still damp from earlier. My heart slams so hard it hurts my ribs.More figures pour through the splintered door—six, maybe seven. Masks. Suppressed rifles. Professional. Not street thugs. These are the kind of men who get paid to make problems disappear.Nico ducks behind the dresser, returns fire. Another body falls. The room smells of gunpowder, copper, and sex.Victor grabs his own weapon from the nightstand drawer—a sleek silver pistol that looks too elegant for this carnage. He fires over the bedframe without

Bella’s POVThe bunker’s air is cool and still, almost clinical, like the inside of a vault that’s been sealed for decades. The only sound is the low hum of the ventilation system and the occasional drip from a pipe somewhere in the walls. No windows. No clocks. Time feels elastic here—stretched thin, then snapped back without warning.We’ve been underground for what feels like hours, maybe a full day. I’ve lost track. My body is a map of their hands: faint bruises on my hips where Nico gripped me too hard, a red bloom on my neck from Victor’s teeth, the dull ache between my legs that reminds me every time I shift that they’ve both been inside me—together, separately, again and again.We’re lying on the king bed now, sheets kicked to the foot. I’m in the middle, as always. Nico on my left, one arm thrown possessively across my waist, face buried against my shoulder. Victor on my right, propped on one elbow, tracing invisible patterns across my stomach with the tip of his index finger.