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หน้าหลัก / Mafia / THE MAFIA'S FATAL ATTRACTION BOOK 2: A PRINCESS'S CHALLENGES / บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

บททั้งหมดของ THE MAFIA'S FATAL ATTRACTION BOOK 2: A PRINCESS'S CHALLENGES: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

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Chapter 51 — Blood Calls to Blood

 TaraThe tea is cold at the bottom of my cup, a bitter residue that sticks to my tongue like the taste of their condescension. They are gone. Their expensive perfumes and their facade smiles have dissipated, leaving behind a void filled with contempt.I rise, scanning the room. Everything is luxury, calm, and… illusion. They saw a wife. A pretty upstart, a naive recruit who needs to be taught the rules of silence and submission. They did not see La Morte.My father's blood, a frozen and pitiless river, flows in my veins. I grew up in the shadow of blackmail, executions, smiles that precede the knife's thrust. I learned to count the lies in a gaze before I learned to read. And these women… these women think they are giving me a lesson in survival?A cold, silent laugh shakes me. Their Chicago, with its men's rules and its hiding women, suddenly seems touchingly naive to me.I am not here to survive. I am here to rei
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Chapter 52 — The She-Wolf's Judgment

TaraPower is not asked for. It is taken. Mike did it with fire and blood. My father, La Morte, did it with frozen terror. I will do it with both.The incident with Giacomo sowed a wind of panic, but it was a whisper in the shadows. Insufficient. A public punishment is not a discreet murder. It is an opera. A staging where the audience leaves with fear embedded in their souls. I need a guilty party. Not a scapegoat. A real one. A traitor whose punishment will serve as an example to all.The opportunity presents itself faster than I would have believed. One of Mike's lieutenants, a man named Kovacs, responsible for a lucrative port district, has been caught red-handed. Not with money, not with a woman. Worse. He leaked information about a convoy to a rival family, the O'Sullivans. The convoy was intercepted, three of Mike's men are dead.Treason is the worst disease in our world. It is contagious. It must be burned out with a hot iron, before everyon
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CHAPTER 54: The War

MIKEThe night blankets Chicago in a cloak of mist and trembling neon, but here, on the thirty-fifth floor, nothing matters except the electricity crackling between us. The city moans below, its agitated streets like a wounded beast, but in this suite with walls of black marble and sheets of scarlet silk, there are no more laws, no more rules—just us, and the weight of what we have just accomplished.The hammer rests on the coffee table, its mahogany handle gleaming under the halogen lamps, its head heavy and menacing like a reminder of what I had to break to get here. A symbol, yes. But not the one that counts tonight. Not when she is there, leaning against the onyx bar, her lips rimmed in a red as dark as the wine she sips. Her eyes—golden, almost feline—follow me as I close the door behind me, locking the world out."You took your time," she murmurs, her voice hoarse, as if she has already screamed my name a dozen times in her head.
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Chapter 53 — The Echo of the Hammer

MikeThe silence after the hammer blow is louder than any scream. A sonic void charged with the horror of what just happened. The scent of jasmine and roses mingles with the subtle, metallic smell of fear. And adrenaline.Kovacs is led away, his moans fading down the hallway. The dark stain on the marble table is not blood, but the sweat of his terror. Tara set the hammer down. The gesture was one of deadly grace. She wipes her fingers with a silk handkerchief, as if she had just finished a slightly unpleasant household chore.She turns to the assembly."Now, my dear friends, dinner is served."Her voice is velvet sheathing a blade. No one moves. They are petrified, eyes riveted on her, on the table, on the hammer that rests there, an object of nightmare rendered mundane.It is at this moment that I push off from the pillar. The sound of my soles on the marble floor breaks the spell. All eyes turn to me, seeking a guide, a reaction, a
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CHAPTER 55: Not Finished

MIKEI have no intention of stopping.Her command still echoes in the damp air between us—wage war on me—and something primitive, definitive, solidifies in my chest. It's no longer a game. It's a claim. A conquest. The sweat on her skin gleams like oil under the low light, and she smells of jasmine, tobacco, and us, that musky, wild aroma we make together.My hips lower. I sheathe myself in a single thrust, so deep and complete our bones seem to clash. Her breath is torn away, her cry drowns in our kiss. She wraps herself around me, her legs encircling my waist like serpents, her heels burying into my lower back, pulling me deeper, demanding more.I start to move.It's not a rhythm, not at first. It's a punishment. An assault. I take her while pinning her to the mattress, each thrust is a blow struck, each withdrawal a threat. The head of my cock grinds against the most sensitive spot inside her, aiming with cruel precision. Her b
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CHAPTER 56: The Heart of the Territory

TARAThe whisky flows down my throat, a liquid fire that contrasts with the moist torpor of my body. Beside me, Mike breathes deeply, calmly. His arm, heavy and possessive, is thrown over my hips, his hand on my belly as if to mark his hold even in sleep.The war continues tomorrow.His words resonate in the silence, long after the echo of our moans has faded. A truce. That is all. A suspension of hostilities, a pillaging of bodies. As intense, as devastating as it may be.I close my eyes, but it is not sleep that comes. It is a nagging thought, now familiar, that digs its furrow behind my aching forehead.When?When will he fall in love with me?The question is absurd. Ridiculous. Weak. In the world he has built, love is a fault line, a vulnerability. A luxury too expensive to afford. He needs loyalty, desire, obedience. He needs territory. And I am, apparently, a territory he loves to conquer. Again and again.We get along we
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CHAPTER 57: The Heart of the Territory 1

 TaraHis lips leave mine, leaving behind the taste of challenge and whisky. A pact sealed in the darkness. He says nothing else, merely casting a last meaningful look at me before returning to the bed, his body moving with the silent grace of a great predator. The truce is over. A new front has just opened.I remain by the window for a moment, the sheet clutched to my chest, still feeling the warmth of his hands on my shoulders. Make war on me. For the first time, the battle has a name, an objective beyond survival or domination. It is terrifying. It is exhilarating.The next two days are an exercise in exquisite tension. Mike is… attentive. Not tender, not gentle—those words do not exist in his lexicon. But he is present, in a sharpened way. He observes my preparations for my parents' arrival with the concentrated interest he would give to a maneuver on a chessboard. He senses this is not just a social visit. It is an incursion onto h
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CHAPTER 58: The Heart of the Territory 2

 TaraThen comes my father. Auracio "La Morte" Ferrari. The man moves with a calculated slowness, a presence that absorbs all the oxygen around him. His suit is perfect, but one senses the contained raw power. His eyes, a metallic gray, find mine first. A glimmer of real affection, immediately masked by a predator's vigilance. Then they turn to Mike. And there, the silence that settles is of a different quality. It is not just the face-off of two alpha predators. It is the meeting of the heirs of an ancient hatred, tinged with the residual disgust of sometimes having to collaborate, and the absolute mistrust of seeing one's blood mixed with that of the enemy.Mike does not lower his eyes. He holds my father's gaze, without aggressive defiance, but with the cold assurance of one who knows he holds something precious to the other.It is my mother who breaks the spell, with her melodious and precise voice, glacially polite."Tara, cara. You look
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CHAPTER 59: Lines of Women 1

TaraThe silence after the men's departure is dense, but of a different quality. The geopolitical tension has dissipated, giving way to another type of gravity, more intimate, inherited from mother to daughter. Mike and my father have gone to the smoking room—or what they call such, which no doubt resembles a miniature war room—to discuss "operational details." A pretext. They need to confront each other, to measure each other without the civilizing filter of our presence.My mother gestures to me with an elegant tilt of her chin."Come, piccola. Let them play with their cigars and their maps. We have things to say to each other."We withdraw into the most spacious guest room, the one overlooking the lake. She has already had a fine porcelain tea service set out, first-flush Darjeeling that perfumes the room. She sits on the sofa, slips off her pumps with an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, and looks at me."So," she says, pouring t
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CHAPTER 60: Lines of Women 1

 TaraThe question comes out, fragile, that of the girl I once was, seeking her queen-mother's blessing.She sets down her cup, stands, and comes to sit beside me. She takes my hand between hers, her fingers slender but strong, dotted with ancient rings."Piccola mia, since you were born, you have always aimed higher, further, more dangerous. You ran faster than your brothers, argued stronger than your father, defied the world with a composure that sometimes terrified me. Sarah…"She stops, and I feel her hand contract slightly on mine. Sarah. My twin. The other half of my soul, and yet my perfect opposite."How is Sarah?" I ask softly, feeling the familiar void, that phantom pain of being separated from a part of oneself.My mother sighs, a sound of velvet and regret."She is in France. In the Luberon, with her husbands. She paints. She cultivates her lavender. She writes me letters long as my arm about the color
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