All Chapters of THE MAFIA'S FATAL ATTRACTION BOOK 2: A PRINCESS'S CHALLENGES: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

116 Chapters

Chapter 11 — The King Without a Throne

MikeShe's sleeping.In my bed.And everything in me rejects this image.I watch her for another moment, slow breathing, the sheets pulled up just enough to guess the curve of her hip. She won this round. Through provocation, calculated coldness, that way of disarming me without a word.I could wake her. Make her leave. Take her back like you reclaim your territory.But no.Not tonight.I won't give her the victory of my anger.I turn away, cross the room in silence. The floorboard creaks slightly under my step.On the table, I tear a piece of paper from a notepad and write dryly:— You want my bed? Keep it.I prefer to sleep elsewhere: M.I leave the note in her place, within reach when she wakes, then leave without a sound.In the hallway, the mansion breathes emptiness and distance. Rosa, half-asleep in the corridor, startles when she sees me.— Mr. Mike? You're leaving at this hour?— Yes. And I don't want anyone on the main floor until morning. Let her sleep, let her dream, let h

Chapter 12 — The Ashes of the Throne

TaraThe night wind slaps me as I leave The Iron Bar.I still feel their stares on my back—a mix of fear, admiration, and judgment. No matter. I've marked my territory.I am no longer a wife to be tolerated.I am a threat they will have to respect.The car waits for me at the entrance. The driver lowers his eyes, silent, as I get in.Chicago flashes by behind the window, sparkling and violent, a monster of glass and fire.I know Mike will join me.He can't stand being challenged publicly. And tonight, I did it in front of all his men.I barely touch the cold handle of the mansion door when I hear the roar of an engine in the distance.I smile.He's already here.I go upstairs, remove my earrings, take off my shoes, then let myself fall onto the edge of the bed.I won a battle.But the war is just beginning.The door slams downstairs.His steps climb. Slow. Heavy. Inexorable.Each step he takes tightens something in my chest—not fear, no. A tension, raw, electric.He enters.Dark gaze,

Chapter 13 — The Court of Queens

TaraThe rain has fallen silent, but the night, for its part, hasn't finished speaking.I dress slowly, a slit black dress, heels as sharp as a threat.Every gesture is a silent response to his absence.He wanted to leave. Let him leave.As for me, I'm going to reign.On the vanity, the wedding ring still gleams.I spin it between my fingers, then dial a number on the red phone he keeps for business.The families' little black book.The names that govern Chicago from the shadows.The voices answer, polite, hesitant.I don't speak long.A few words are enough:"Tonight, at my place, your queen. No men, no guards."In thirty minutes, black cars glide past the manor.The hall lights up with a new radiance, a blend of opulence and danger.Eight heiresses, eight faces of a single empire.They are young, beautiful, and each carries in their eyes the trace of power either bequeathed to them or stolen.---— Valentina Moretti: The She-Wolf of Little ItalyDaughter of the Moretti clan's godfat

Chapter 14 — Poison and Betrayal

TaraThe party is at its peak around me. Laughter rings out, false and too shrill. Champagne flutes empty and refill in a gilded ballet. I smile, I circulate, I reign. But something suddenly weighs heavy in the air. A dissonance.My gaze lands on Bianca. The Girl with Diamonds. She's bent over her phone, her usually so radiant smile has faded. Her fingers tap rapidly. She types a name. Her thumb hesitates a second before sending the message. Then that smile returns, but it's a grimace of triumph, cruel and quick, which she immediately erases.She stands up, a little too fast."The bathroom, darling?" Sofia calls out to her with a broad wave of her arm."I know the way, thanks," Bianca replies in a voice she tries to make neutral, but in which I perceive a hint of nervousness.She doesn't head for the bathroom. She takes the east wing corridor. The one leading to the guest rooms. To our room.Ice instantly forms in my veins. The champagne turns to vinegar in my stomach. I stare at her

Chapter 15 — The Night of Blades

Tara The silence in the blue room is more deafening than any scream. A heavy perfume of betrayal, blood, and fear hangs there, as tangible as the fog over the docks. Mike is still rooted near the window, pale as a ghost, his borrowed elegance in tatters. Valentina and Nyah release me, but remain in a guarding position, ready to intervene again. Their gazes, usually so inscrutable, are troubled. They see the crack. I have fallen from my pedestal and revealed myself as a wild beast. But a useful beast. One that is feared. "Get out," I order in a voice I don't recognize, hoarse, ravaged by screaming. "Tara…" Valentina begins. "GET OUT!" I repeat, and this time, it's the roar of a wild animal. They obey. They retreat toward the door, Nyah casting one last sidelong glance at Mike, a mixture of pity and contempt. The door closes, leaving

Chapter 16 — The Hunt

Tara A strange sound cleaves the heavy silence of the library — a sharp, broken laugh, which surprises even me. It transforms into a rictus I feel on my lips without having commanded it. "A conversation? Is that what you call it?" says Mike, retreating behind his armchair, making a barrier of leather and wood between us. His gaze is slimy, shifting from terror to desperate provocation. It's the trap of the cornered rat. "It's the beginning, Mike. The beginning of the end of our lies." I take a step. He takes one sideways, circling the armchair. The macabre dance begins. "You don't understand, Tara!" he defends himself, voice shrill. "It wasn't just Bianca! It was… an urge. A necessity!" Another step. The blade traces a slow circle in the air, hypnotic. "Enlighten me, then. Make yourself useful for once. Talk."

Chapter 17 — The Widow's Web

TaraSilence.It is heavy, total, after the roar of the engine and the screech of gravel. A silence that weighs as much as the world. The knife slips from my fingers, clinking on the balcony stone. Mike's blood, small black viscous drops, stains the balustrade. I stare at my empty hands. They tremble. Not from fear, nor from remorse, but from the adrenaline receding, leaving behind a void more terrifying than all the fury that preceded it.The absolute coldness melts, and in its slow dissolution, reality assaults me, brutal. The betrayal. The picture he painted, an entire world defiled, populated with laughing ghosts. Bianca, Valentina, Nyah… Helena. My friend Helena. Each name is a stab wound, each image a burn.A sob tears from my throat, hoarse, strangled. Then another. These are not tears of sadness; it's a collapse. The ground gives way beneath me. My house, my husband, my friends… everything is dust and lies. I crumble to my knees on t

Chapter 18 — The Price of Outrage

Mike The engine of my Ferrari roared, devouring Chicago's black asphalt. Every sharp turn was an insult, every acceleration a challenge thrown at this shitty night. But fear clung to my skin, a cold sweat that speed couldn't dry. The image of Tara, of her empty eyes and that hypnotic blade, haunted me. Fuck. She'd gone insane. A real lunatic. And that look… It was no longer my wife's look. It was a predator's. I needed to forget. To prove to myself I was still a man, that I still dominated something, someone. I took out my phone, fingers trembling with contained rage. Nyah. She was always available, always impressionable. She didn't look at me with that chilling contempt. "Be at the apartment in twenty minutes," I barked before hanging up without waiting for an answer. Her loft, a gift I'd given her for her services. The smell of cheap luxury an

Chapter 19 — The Prey on Its Knees

TaraThe silence in the great house is heavy, palpable. A leaden cloak draped over the dark furniture and ancestral portraits. I am sitting in my father's leather armchair, near the cold fireplace. My fingers brush the cold of the metal protruding from my sleeve. The blade. It whispers too. It waits.I no longer wait. I have become the waiting. I am the storm that falls silent before it strikes.Each second that falls in the hourglass of this night is a hammer blow on the anvil of my vengeance. I see his face again, in the elevator. The smugness, the certainty of one who believes he owns the world. And then the fear. That small primal gleam, so new, so delicious, when he understood that the object had become the subject. That the prey was a predator.My phone vibrates once, discreetly, on the coffee table. A single word from my father."On his way."A shiver runs down my spine. It isn't anxiety. It's hunger. Thirst. The calm before the culmi

Chapter 20 — The Serpent in a Cage

Mike The door is closed. A simple oak panel between her and me. A humiliating border. I no longer feel my fractured ribs, nor the blood in my mouth. Only one thing overwhelms me, burning, acidic: shame. I was on my knees. I said the words. I'm sorry. For Nyah. For the elevator. For the outrage. Each syllable was a nail in the coffin of my pride. And she, Tara, standing, looked down at me with that icy calm worth more than any screams. Her fingers in my hair. A defilement. This room is spartan. A cell. The antechamber of my humiliation. I am in the center, my fists clenched so tight my nails dig bloody half-moons into my palms. My whole body trembles, not from fear, but from a fury so pure it could make me burst. "A man on his knees…" My own voice, a muffled roar, tears through the silence. I start pacing the room, back and forth, a wild beast in a cage

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