All Chapters of Forced bride of mafia king: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Lena’s POV I rush into the bathroom before the tears can slip out. Dante’s voice follows me down the hall, calling my name, but I ignore him and shove the door shut behind me. I didn’t think I’d get this emotional talking about the wedding. I never pictured myself getting married without my dad there. One question about venues and suddenly all I can think about is him not walking me down the aisle. The door opens. Dante steps inside. He comes to my side, and before he can ask, I swipe at my eyes. “I’m okay,” I tell him. My voice shakes. “I just got… a bit emotional.” “Well, I can see that,” he says. His hands come up to cradle my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “But why?” The question sounds like he actually cares. As if he could. He wouldn’t understand the pain of losing someone you love, because he doesn’t love anyone. “Just leave me alone,” I snap, my voice rising before I can stop it. His face stays stoic. Unreadable. And then something in me breaks. A sob

Lena’s pov My spine still hasn’t stopped shaking. Not from the cold water drying in my hair. From him. From Dante almost killing me. I slide into the SUV without a word. The drive back takes forever. Forty minutes of nothing. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t try to explain or apologize or even gloat. Good. I have nothing to say to him either. Why is he pissed? I’m the one who had a bullet tear past my skull. I should be the one shutting down. We reach the estate gates. His house looms. The second the SUV stops, I’m out. I don’t wait for the door to be opened. I don’t look back. Let him be mad. I did nothing wrong. I take the stairs two at a time, slam my bedroom door hard enough that the frame rattles. Fuck him. My purse is still on the dresser where I left it this morning. Mocking me. I snatch it up to shove it in the closet. Out of sight, out of mind. The vial slips out. The glass hits the hardwood and rolls away from the closet. I stare at

Lena’s POV The stone leaches the heat from my body. Or maybe there was none left to take. Seven days. It’s been seven days of barely any sleep. It’s been seven days of me regretting what I did to him. I tried to kill him. God, I tried to kill Dante. My stomach turns every time I think of it. Not just from guilt. From the fever. From the way the air down here tastes like rust and my own breath. Maria comes twice a day. Tray down. Water cup. No words. Her face is stone, same as these walls. She won’t look at me. Like if she does, she’ll see the girl who tried to murder her boss and decide I’m not worth the bread she brings. I shouldn’t have listened to my mother. I shouldn’t have let the anger drive. I shouldn’t have— Footsteps. My head snaps up so fast the room spins. I scramble, press my back to the wall, smooth my hair with shaking fingers. Pathetic. I know it’s pathetic. But maybe— The lock groans. Metal screeches. Maria. Of course, it’s Maria

Day one Dante’s POV: Thud. The sound of the dart sinking on the board echoes all over the room. I throw another. Bullseye again. The door opens without a knock. Ricardo. “Boss.” I don’t turn. “What.” “Maria is here.” I pull the last dart from the board. “Let her in.” He steps out. Seconds later, her footsteps. Hesitant. “Signore.” Still not looking at her. “Report.” “She ate half the bowl.” Maria’s voice is careful. “And her Fever’s gone.” Good. The word doesn’t leave my mouth. “Anything else?” I ask. “No, signore.” “Then you’re done.” I hear her swallow. She wants to say more. She won’t. The door clicks shut. Silence. Only then do I set the darts down. I should feel nothing. She betrayed me. Instead, my chest does something stupid. It loosens. Lena Virelli. What the hell do you have on me? Day two Dante’s pov: I take a swig of the scotch. It burns. Good. My uncle’s voice drags across the dining room l

LENA’S POV I wake up smiling stupidly, at the new book on my nightstand again. No note. No name. Just him. Or the ghost of this mansion that keeps leaving books. Either way, I’ll take it. These books are the only thing I look forward to now. A knock. Maria comes in with the vacuum. She doesn’t speak. Not yet. She never does. I open the book anyway. Yellow highlights on page one. His handwriting in the margin. “He doesn’t want revenge. He wants to be remembered.” What does he mean by that? My chest tightens. “Morning,” I say, without looking up. The vacuum stops. I glance over. Maria’s watching me. “You look... lighter,” she says. It’s the first real sentence she’s given me in days. I set the book down and observe her wondering if I should speak or not. “Maria,” I say summoning courage. She waits. “Do you still hate me?” The words com