All Chapters of Contracted to My Fiance’s Mafia Don: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Elara Vincenzo had my mother, and nothing else mattered to me in that moment beyond bringing her home safely. "Let her go," I said, keeping my weapon steady despite the fear pulsing through every part of me. "I don't believe I'm going to do that," Vincenzo said, his gun remaining firmly pressed against my mother's temple. "Vincenzo, this doesn't have to end with her getting hurt." "You're going to watch her die," he said, his voice carrying no hesitation. "Right here, right now, and there's nothing either of you can do to stop it." "Vincenzo—" "Say goodbye, Elara." I felt Alexander move beside me, his body tensing as though preparing to close the distance between Vincenzo and us. "Stay back, Alexander," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "Elara, we can't just stand here while he threatens her." "Stay back," I repeated, needing him to trust me in this moment despite everything screaming inside him to intervene physically. I took a careful step forward, keeping my eye

Elara Lorenzo had Michael, and every instinct in me narrowed down to a single purpose the moment I understood exactly what I was looking at inside that warehouse. "Let him go," I said, keeping my weapon steady despite the terror threatening to overwhelm every part of me. "I don't believe I'm going to do that," Lorenzo said, his grip on the gun pressed against Michael's small head remaining unnervingly steady. "Lorenzo, please" "You killed my father," he continued, his voice carrying a coldness that mirrored Vincenzo's exactly. "Lorenzo, listen to me" "Now I'm going to kill your son," he said, cutting through whatever attempt I was making to reach him. "Lorenzo, he's a child. He has nothing to do with what happened between you and me." "Say goodbye, Elara." I felt Alexander move beside me, his entire body tensing as though preparing to lunge forward despite the obvious danger that action would create for Michael. "Stay back, Alexander," I said, my voice sharper than I intend

Alexander Michael was traumatized, and I could see the evidence of it in nearly everything he did during the weeks following that warehouse. He flinched at loud noises that would have gone unnoticed before, jumping whenever a door closed too firmly, or a car backfired somewhere down the street. He no longer wanted to be alone, insisting one of us stay in his room until he fell asleep each night, and even then he often woke crying from nightmares he refused to fully describe. I recognized that look in his eyes. I had seen it before, years earlier, in David, back when he was still a boy struggling to process the loss of his mother and everything that followed it. I had watched that unprocessed trauma calcify over the years into something far more destructive, something that had eventually cost us all more than any of us wanted to admit. I wasn't going to let history repeat itself with my son. "Elara," I said one evening, finding her in the study. "We need to get Michael help." "Ale

Elara Alexander left, and though I understood exactly why he needed the space, that understanding did nothing to soften the weight of him being gone. He needed time to sit with everything he was feeling, time to figure out who he actually was underneath everything the empire and our marriage and fatherhood had layered over him for so many years. I told myself repeatedly that his absence wasn't about me, wasn't about a failure in our marriage, but simply about a man trying to find solid ground after killing another person in front of our son. Knowing all of that intellectually didn't make the empty side of our bed feel any less enormous each night. "Elara," Vivian said, finding me in the kitchen on the second morning after he left, staring at a cup of coffee I hadn't touched since pouring it. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," I said automatically. "Elara" "I'm fine," I repeated, though even I could hear how hollow the words sounded coming out of my mouth. "Elara, please." "Vivian, I

Alexander Sitting on the edge of Michael's bed, I searched his face for some sign of where to begin, knowing that pushing too hard would only make him retreat further into himself. "Michael," I said gently. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me." "I'm fine," he said, pulling his knees up toward his chest. "Michael, I don't think that's true." "It's nothing," he insisted, though his voice wavered slightly on the word. "Michael, I've known you your entire life. I can tell when something's wrong, and this is one of those times." He was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands rather than at me. "I'm scared," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Scared of what, exactly?" He hesitated, and I watched him wrestle with whatever he was trying to find the courage to say. "Of Mom," he said finally. I felt something tighten in my chest at his admission, though I forced myself to keep my expression calm and steady for his sake. "Michael, can you tel