Todos los capítulos de The Wrong Vow: Bred by the Mafia Twins: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

My index finger swiped rapidly down the glowing screen of my hidden tablet. The older video files blurred together in a continuous stream of green digital text."What is the total duration of this memory archive?" I muttered, my heart hammering a rapid staccato against my ribs.I actively bypassed the surveillance files from my first week at Blackthorn Estate. My eyes locked immediately onto a primary base folder directory located at the very bottom of the drive.The timestamp stamped on the folder caused the blood in my veins to run freezing cold."June fourteenth," I whispered into the quiet, red-lit vault. "That date precedes the wedding contract by exactly six weeks."I had not even made physical contact with Roman Falcone yet. The syndicate debt acquisition hadn't even been legally drafted."Why was the surveillance matrix active prior to my arrival?" I asked the empty room, analyzing the timeline. "Which operative installed the lens?"My hands trembled slightly as I executed the

I was pinned flush against the cold metal edge of the main server rack. Rocco’s massive body boxed my frame in completely, his heavy arms caging me against the steel chassis.His dark eyes dilated with a raw, exposed obsession that paralyzed the oxygen in my lungs. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, hitting one hundred and thirty beats per minute.I shifted my gaze past his broad shoulder, locking onto the dozens of surveillance photographs of my Brooklyn life covering his concrete wall."You executed a stalking protocol on a civilian," I whispered, my vocal cords trembling with a mixture of shock and undeniable physiological arousal.Rocco did not retreat a single inch. He reached out, his smooth, uncallused fingers gently mapping the bone structure of my jawline."I ran passive surveillance on you for six months, Cora," Rocco confessed, his gravelly voice dropping to a near-silent frequency. "I gathered data on how you maneuvered around your father.""You stood by and observe

I sat cross-legged on the soft wool of the Persian rug, surrounded entirely by the scattered pages of Roman's customs manifests.The afternoon sun bled through the microscopic gaps in the steel shutters, casting thin, golden laser-lines across the floorboards."The mathematics contradict the narrative," I whispered to the quiet room, tapping my pen aggressively against my chin.I extracted Rocco's logistical coordinates from my memory banks, laying the data side-by-side with Roman's official shipping logs. I began to calculate the raw tonnage, tracking the physical shipping routes from Baltimore down to the southern extraction ports."Twelve tons of optical gear cleared the Baltimore checkpoint on March twelfth," I muttered, circling the bold, typed numbers. "However, the syndicate bank register only processed payments for ten tons.""Specify the location of the remaining two tons, Arthur," I demanded of the silent page, staring directly at my father's signature.I flipped through the

I pressed my spine completely flat against the cold marble of a massive grand pillar in the East Wing corridor.My fingernails dug into the microscopic grooves of the polished stone, my respiratory rate lowered to a shallow, utterly silent rhythm.I was executing a standard transit back to the library to return the Baltimore custom logs when the acoustic signature of muffled voices halted my momentum.The low, gravelly, unmistakable frequencies of Roman's voice vibrated through the two-inch gap of the half-open library door."Is the Baltimore extraction route fully operational, Dante?" Roman asked, his voice bouncing faintly off the hardwood floors."The high-speed aquatic vessel is fueled and docked at the private marina," Dante replied, his tone sharp, rapid, and clinical. "You will execute the sea route exactly as mapped.""Provide a status update on the primary highway vector," Roman demanded. "My informants in Brighton Beach are exhibiting zero chatter.""Their radio silence is t

I stood paralyzed in the absolute geometric center of the dark, battery-lit master bedroom. My hands pressed tightly, protectively over my lower stomach.The heavy brass handle on the door rattled aggressively, and the heavy boots of the alpha Don echoed directly outside the wood."Rocco, abort," I whispered, my vocal cords cracking under the suffocating atmospheric pressure.Rocco did not execute a retreat to the vanity curtain. He stood perfectly static by the rain-streaked glass window.His bleeding shoulder tensed under his torn black sweater as his large, smooth fingers gripped his black Glock with lethal, military precision."I am terminating my protocol of hiding from my own DNA, Cora," Rocco murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the darkness.The heavy oak bedroom door was pushed violently inward, the hinges screeching.Roman Falcone breached the room, pulling a freezing wave of atmospheric ozone and wet rain with him. He was dripping wet. His heavy wool trench coat