Todos los capítulos de Bought By The Irish Mafia Boss: Capítulo 161 - Capítulo 170

MayaI know something is wrong the second Declan walks through the door.Not because he's angry. Angry Declan is easy to read. His jaw locks. His shoulders tense. His voice gets quieter. This is different. He looks empty. That's worse.I'm sitting at the kitchen island with my laptop open in front of me, pretending to answer emails while actually checking the clock every five minutes. He left before seven this morning. It's nearly one in the afternoon. He hasn't answered a single message. Not even the one where I threatened to eat the expensive chocolate he hides in the top cupboard.That alone told me something was seriously wrong. The lift doors close behind him. He takes off his jacket. Drops his keys onto the counter. Then walks straight past me. No kiss. No hello, sweetheart. Nothing. "Declan."He stops. For half a second. Then continues toward the bedroom. I close my laptop. "Declan.""I'm going to shower.” He says.

MayaThe change in Declan is instant.One second, he's standing in his father's kitchen looking annoyed because we've spent the last hour laughing at childhood pictures. The next, he's the underboss again. Cold. Focused. Dangerous."The car my da saw last month," he says, looking toward the window. "It's back."My stomach drops. His father doesn't move. Doesn't panic. He simply places his coffee down."What car?” I ask. "Grey Audi.” Declan is already typing something on his phone. "Finn saw it two miles out."His father sighs like someone has mildly inconvenienced him. "Could be anyone."Declan turns. "Ye saw the same car more than once.""Aye.""And ye didn't tell me,” Declan says, and I can see the annoyance in his face. "We've covered that.""We're going to cover it several more fuck

MayaTwo days later, I finally understand why Declan didn't want to come home. I want to be clear about that, because it took me two days to see it, and I'm not usually this slow.It's not Ireland. He loves Ireland. I can see it every time we drive through the narrow roads, and he points out somewhere he used to go as a kid, hear it when his accent thickens without him noticing, watch it happen when he stands in his father's garage with his hands buried under the bonnet of some old car, like his whole body remembers how to be happy there.It's not the place he avoids. It's everything the place makes him feel. Especially today."You're going to break that.” I say. Declan looks down at the coffee mug in his hand like he forgot it existed."I'm holding it.” He tells me. "You're strangling it.""I'm not nervous.” He s

MayaI wake up warm. Too warm. For a few seconds, I don't remember where I am. There's a heavy arm around my waist, a solid chest pressed against my back and someone's face buried in my hair. Then Declan moves. And everything comes rushing back. Ireland. His father's house. The garage. The old sofa. Declan looking at me like I was the only thing in the world he could see. And those three words. I love ye, Maya. My stomach flips. I smile into the pillow like an idiot.I'm thirty years old. I shouldn't be lying in a man's childhood bedroom smiling because he told me he loves me. Except this isn't just a man. It's Declan. The same Declan who irritated me for years. The same man who walked into my tattoo shop bleeding and somehow left with a broken compass tattooed onto his back.The same man I spent years pretending didn't affect me. I thought I was good at it. Apparently, I wasn’t. His father knew about me. Years ago. That still does something strange to my chest.I spent so long thinki

MayaThree years.I keep staring at the number like it might change if I look long enough. It doesn’t. Three years. Someone knew my name. Someone followed me. Someone wrote reports about where I raced, who I spoke to, what car I drove. And I had absolutely no idea. That is the part that bothers me most. Not the photographs. Not even the words Liam found.ALVAREZ MAY HAVE OBSERVED TRANSFER. CONTINUE MONITORING.Observed what? What transfer? I've spent most of the morning trying to force my brain backwards. Queens. Three years ago. Illegal races. Industrial roads. Too much noise. Too many cars. Too many nights blurred together because back then racing wasn't something I occasionally did. It was my life. Work all day. Race all night. Sleep when I could. Repeat.I knew every warehouse lot, every back road, every petrol station where we met before moving to the real location. I knew drivers by the sound of their engines before I saw their faces. But one black BMW? That should be easy.Exce