All Chapters of My Billionaire Ex Or My Mafia Bestie : Chapter 21 - Chapter 29

Bella’s POVThe room feels smaller tonight.The balcony doors are open, letting in the warm Naples breeze that carries salt, distant motorino engines, and the faint perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the garden below.The chandelier is dimmed to a single low setting—gold light pooling on the white sheets, turning every bead of sweat on our skin into tiny stars.Antonio enters at 8:42 p.m. sharp.No guards.No announcement.Just the soft click of the lock and the sound of his loafers on marble.He’s changed since last night.Black silk shirt unbuttoned almost to the navel, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, exposing forearms corded with old muscle and faded ink—tattoos from a time when the Moretti family still fought their wars with knives instead of lawyers.His silver hair is slightly mussed, as if he’s been pacing his own rooms all day.In his hand: the same crystal tumbler, already half-full of amber whiskey.He doesn’t pour more.He doesn’t sit in the armchair.He walks straight t

Bella’s POVThe fifth night feels different from the moment the lock turns.It’s 8:15 p.m.—even earlier.The sound of the key is sharper, almost angry.When the door opens, Antonio steps inside without the usual measured calm.His shirt is completely unbuttoned now, hanging open like he gave up pretending halfway through dressing.The silver cross on his chest catches the low light.His eyes are bloodshot, the whiskey glass in his hand already nearly empty.He doesn’t speak at first.He walks straight to the bed, drags the velvet armchair even closer—until it’s only two feet from the edge of the mattress—and drops into it heavily.Then he looks at us.Nico and Victor are already naked, standing on either side of the bed like sentinels.I’m in the center, sitting on my heels, completely bare, skin still flushed from the slow, teasing touches they gave me all afternoon while we waited in tense silence.Antonio’s gaze rakes over me—slow, hungry, conflicted.His voice, when it finally com

Bella’s POVThe seventh and final night arrives like the last breath before drowning.The lock turns at exactly 8:00 p.m.—on the dot, as if even time has grown tired of waiting.The sound is different tonight. Not sharp. Not angry. It’s slow, almost reverent, like the metal itself knows this is the end.When the door opens, Antonio Moretti steps inside and the room seems to hold its breath with him.He looks ruined.His black silk shirt is gone completely—discarded somewhere before he even reached the door. He stands in only tailored black trousers, the silver cross on his bare chest catching the low chandelier light. Old scars map his torso like a roadmap of every war he’s survived. His silver hair is completely disheveled. His eyes are dark, bloodshot, and burning with something that looks dangerously close to madness.In one hand he carries the crystal decanter—nearly empty. In the other, no glass this time. Just the decanter.He doesn’t speak at first.He walks to the foot of the

Bella’s POVThe jet touched down on Grand Cayman just after sunrise, painting the turquoise sea in shades of rose and gold.The air when the cabin door opened was warm, thick with salt and blooming frangipani, a violent contrast to the cold marble and whiskey-scented tension of Naples.No one was waiting for us except a single black SUV with tinted windows and a driver who nodded once at Victor before disappearing.We drove in silence along the coastal road, palms whipping past, the ocean glittering on our left like liquid sapphire.My hand never left my stomach.Nico’s hand covered mine.Victor’s rested on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles over the thin fabric of the sundress.The villa welcomed us like an old lover—white concrete and glass, infinity pool bleeding into the Caribbean, bougainvillea spilling over every surface.The same private stretch of beach.The same king bed with white linens that still carried the faint scent of our last stay.The moment the front door closed

Bella’s POVThe second week on the island blurred into a haze of salt air, golden sunlight, and endless desire.We had no schedule. No deadlines. No one hunting us—at least not yet. The outside world felt distant, almost unreal, like a bad dream we had finally woken from.The villa became our entire universe: the infinity pool that bled into the Caribbean, the private beach where the sand was soft and white as sugar, the wide daybeds under swaying palms, and the massive king bed with its crisp white linens that we ruined again and again.I woke up every morning tangled between them, their bodies warm and heavy, their hands already possessive even in sleep.Nico’s arm was always banded around my waist, palm flat over my belly. Victor’s leg was thrown over both of mine, his face buried in the curve of my neck.Their cocks—thick and half-hard—pressed against me from both sides, a constant reminder that I belonged to them completely.On the tenth morning, I woke to the sound of waves and