Todos los capítulos de The Wrong Vow: Bred by the Mafia Twins: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

The darkness in the master bedroom was absolute, heavy with the sharp smell of ozone and burnt wiring from the generator blast.My chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid movements as the high-frequency hum of the security alarms died.I stood perfectly still between the two identical, towering silhouettes of the Falcone brothers. The sudden blackout had left the massive room freezing, cold air biting at my bare shoulders."The security grid is completely offline," Roman’s voice cut through the dark, low and gravelly. I heard the dry rustle of his silk shirt as his chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths."We have exactly eight minutes before Dante's auxiliary generators reboot and sweep this wing," Rocco added from my right. His hand, rough and heavily callused, brushed against my bare forearm in the dark, sending a sudden jolt of heat to my core.A sudden, sharp wave of morning sickness hit the back of my throat, tasting of bitter copper. I swallowed hard to fight the sudden diz

The heavy iron bolt of the trapdoor in the dark corner of the Security Hub ground slowly against its housing with a sharp, metallic shriek.A sudden wave of cold sweat broke out across my shoulder blades, my muscles locking into rigid, defensive lines as I stood my ground.I forced my shallow breathing to remain steady, refusing to let the rising pregnancy nausea cloud my immediate tactical focus.My fingers tightened around the cold, textured grip of the spare semi-automatic pistol, my knuckles turning a bloodless, stark white in the green glow of the monitors.Instead of retreating from the sound under my feet, I lunged toward the master console and slammed my palm against the glass touchscreen.I initialized the administrative override protocols I had copied from the offline mainframe during my Baltimore audit weeks ago.A heavy steel blast plate descended over the trapdoor recess with a deafening, hydraulic roar that shook the concrete foundations of the room. A muffled cry of sur

Rocco's heavy, rattling breaths vibrated directly through the cold concrete floor, sending a sharp shudder through my palms. I pressed my weight down on his left shoulder, my fingers instantly slick with the warm, dark blood soaking his sweater."Stay with me, Rocco," I whispered, my voice a tight, low vibration against the high-frequency hum of the server racks. "The bleeding is starting to slow, but you need to hold perfectly still."Rocco's jaw clenched in a brutal spasm of pain, his teeth grinding together as a thick cord of muscle pulsed along his neck. His right hand clawed weakly at the damp concrete floor, leaving frantic, red smears in the dark."I'm here, little bird," he gasped, his grey pupils dilated as he struggled to lock his gaze onto my face. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow movements, his skin turning a sickly, pale shade of grey.The copper, metallic scent of his blood filled my nostrils, making my stomach turn over in another violent wave of early pregnanc

Three days had passed since the concrete floor of the Security Hub was painted in Russian blood. The physical wreckage had been cleared and the shattered glass replaced, but the heavy metallic scent of gunpowder still seemed to cling to the mahogany walls.My throat remained dry, a constant tightness in my chest as my fingers hovered over the encrypted tablet. A sudden, familiar wave of early morning nausea made my stomach turn over in a violent, biological spasm.I swallowed the bitter heat rising in my throat, forcing my posture to remain rigid and upright. I sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table, my knuckles white as I gripped the leather edges of my chair.The heavy double doors of the West Wing hall creaked open, the sharp tap of polished leather boots echoing against the marble floor. Don Carmine stepped into the room, his white hair slicked back and his face set in a cold, unyielding mask of authority.Three heavily armed Commission Enforcers flanked him, their

The rain-slicked courtyard of Blackthorn was completely silent under the cold morning sky. A sudden, sharp spasm of early pregnancy nausea hit my lower abdomen, but I forced my breathing to remain slow and shallow.I swallowed the bitter dryness in my throat, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the gold-stamped leather folder in my left hand. Inside the folder lay the newly minted Certificate of Authority for the Baltimore Port, its fresh ink smelling sharp and metallic.My right hand held the central security access tablet, its dark screen displaying twenty-four green, uninterrupted video feeds. Every active camera, from the dummy traps at the southern gates to the reinforced East Gate, was now bound directly to my personal administrative key."The Commission's transport vehicles have officially cleared our state border," Dante’s voice crackled through the wall-mounted speaker. "Don Carmine accepted the faked biometric logs without a single follow-up query," he added, his tone fla