All Chapters of Forbidden Claim: A Mafia King’s Obsession.: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Nadia’s POVThe library windows rattle whenever the wind picked up, but I barely notice anymore. I sit at the long mahogany table with my economics textbook open in front of me, surrounded by notes, loose papers, and two half-finished cups of coffee. Four days. That was how long I’d been going back to college. Four days of pretending I was normal. Every morning, Viktor drives me through the estate gates. Two other cars followed us, and there were always guards somewhere nearby once we reach campus. I spend six hours in lecture halls, taking notes, handing in assignments, and trying not to think about the men watching me from across the courtyard. Then, at three-forty-five, I’d get back into the SUV. The gates would close behind me. And I would be home. Home. I almost laugh at the word. The estate isn’t home. It is simply the place I am taken back to. I rub my forehead and try to focus on the page in front of me. I couldn’t. My mind keeps wandering. To the events of the nights.

Nadia’s POVFor several seconds after Amato’s arrival, nobody moves.The ballroom has gone so quiet that I can hear the faint hum of the chandeliers overhead. Lorenzo stands in front of me, completely still.His shoulders are squared, his expression unreadable, and his eyes remain fixed on Amato.Around us, men shift uneasily. A few hands disappear beneath suit jackets. Nobody need to say what they were reaching for.I tighten my fingers around the back of Lorenzo’s jacket. Then a man’s voice comes from somewhere to our right.“D’Amato. You bring quite an entrance with you.”I turn. A man steps out from the alcove beside the VIP lounge, a glass of scotch in one hand.He looks nothing like the men surrounding him.His suit is slate gray, perfectly fitted, and his light brown hair is neatly combed back. He couldn’t have been much older than Lorenzo. There is something easy about the way he carries himself, as though he hadn’t just walked into the middle of a room where two rival famili

Nadia’s POV I gave myself five minutes on the balcony, to breathe and stop my hands from shaking. The cold had already seeped through my shoes, and my fingers were numb beneath the velvet wrap. I rubbed them together and took one last look at the city beyond the terrace before forcing myself back inside. I couldn’t stay out there forever. Lorenzo would eventually come looking for me. And if he found out I’d been alone with Peter, I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen. I pushed through the glass doors. The ballroom swallowed me again. Music filled the room, louder than before. Waiters moved between the guests with trays of champagne while conversations rose and fell around me. I immediately searched for Viktor, but I couldn’t find him. I looked toward the archway. Still nothing. A group of capos had gathered near the entrance, blocking my view. Where had he gone? I stepped to the side, trying to see past them, but I could see nothing. My chest tightened. Maybe he’d

Nadia’s POVThe road is completely empty. Snow fell steadily around me, settling on the dark pavement and collecting along the roadside. I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, shaking so badly that my teeth chatter. My dress is ruined, the black velvet is torn and dirty, streaked with blood from my hands and lip. My bare feet are numb, and every breath burned in my chest.I looked down the road, but it’s empty. I turned the other way, still nothing. All I needed is one car. A taxi. A truck. Anyone. I just needed someone to stop, someone who will see me standing here and help me. Then headlights suddenly appeared around the bend. Three sets. My heart instantly jumped. For one stupid second, I thought someone had finally found me. Until the vehicles came closer, three black SUVs. I raised one bloody hand to shield my eyes as the headlights washed over me. I took a step backward, my stomach sinker.“Lorenzo...” I whispered.He found me. That had to be it. I waited for Vikto

The grand ballroom of the Romano estate was a wreck. The orchestra had gone silent. In its place, high-security sirens wailed across the grounds, filling the estate with an ugly, constant noise. The wealthy guests, politicians, and foreign syndicate representatives had already been forced out by armed guards. What remained was a scene of chaos — overturned tables, shattered crystal, and spilled red wine streaked across the white marble floor , and from a distance, it looked like blood. Lorenzo stood near the heavy archway leading toward the west wing, no one dared come close. Even his highest ranking capos kept their distance, standing nearly ten feet away and waiting in tense silence. His dark hair was disheveled, his suit jacket hung open, and his eyes were fixed ahead with a fury so cold that nobody wanted to be the one to speak first. Then Viktor came running down the hallway. His face was pale, his breathing uneven. “Don Lorenzo!” He stopped a few feet away and bowed