Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE DON'S MISSING PIECE : Kabanata 111 - Kabanata 120

Cassandra couldn't stop thinking about the velvet box.She'd found it by accident—a small, dark blue box tucked into the back of Dante's drawer. She hadn't opened it. She hadn't needed to. She knew what it was. She'd seen enough engagement rings in movies, in magazines, in the windows of jewelry stores she passed on the street.Dante was going to propose.For real this time. Not a fake engagement. Not a strategy. A real proposal. A real marriage. A real future.She should have been happy. She should have been thrilled. She should have been counting down the days until he got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife.But she was terrified.---Not because she didn't love him. She did. More than she'd ever loved anyone. More than she'd ever thought possible.But because love meant vulnerability. Love meant risk. Love meant opening herself up to the possibility of losing everything.And Cassandra had lost so much already.Her mother. Her grandmother. Her sense of self. Her innocence

Cassandra stared at the photograph.Her hands were trembling. Her heart was pounding. The image blurred before her eyes—her and Dante at the interview, standing together, holding hands, smiling. A happy photograph. A hopeful photograph.But the words on the back burned into her mind.I'm closer than you think.Isabella was out there. Watching. Waiting. Planning.The fear was paralyzing—a cold, heavy weight in her chest. But beneath it, something else stirred. Something hotter. Something fiercer.Anger.She was tired of being hunted. Tired of running. Tired of looking over her shoulder. She'd survived Vincent. She'd survived Marcus Kane. She'd survived Jane and Big Aunty and every other enemy who'd tried to destroy her.She wasn't going to let Isabella win.---Dante found her in the bedroom.She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the photograph clutched in her hands. Her face was pale. Her eyes were red. But her jaw was set—determined.He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her."

Cassandra stared at her phone.Isabella's words echoed in her mind—cold, sharp, like shards of glass. Just you and me. No Dante. No bodyguards. Or I'll start killing the people you love. One by one.Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.She couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt. Not Samantha. Not Evan. Not Daniel. Not anyone.But she couldn't face Isabella alone.---Dante found her in the bedroom.She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone clutched in her hands, her face pale. He crossed the room in three quick strides, kneeling in front of her."What happened?"She told him. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking.Dante's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists."She's not going to touch you," he said. "I won't let her.""She'll kill them, Dante. She'll kill everyone I love.""Then we'll stop her. Before she can."---Evan revealed the traitor's identity that night.It was someone unexpected—someone who'd been close to t

The house was quiet.Cassandra sat by the window of the nursery, her hand resting on her stomach. The baby had been active all morning—tiny kicks, gentle flutters, a constant reminder of the life growing inside her. She smiled, tracing slow circles on her belly."Good morning, Grace," she whispered.The door opened behind her. Dante stepped inside, his hair still damp from the shower, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He crossed the room and knelt beside her chair, his hand covering hers on her stomach."How are you feeling?" he asked."Better. The nausea's easing.""Good." He kissed her forehead. "You scared me, you know. When you ran out of the car—""I know." She touched his face. "I'm sorry.""Don't apologize. Just... don't do it again."She laughed softly. "I'll try."---Marco had been interrogating the traitor for three days.The man's name was Thomas—a guard who'd been with the Moretti family for nearly a decade. Dante had trusted him. Promoted him. Paid him well. And Thomas

Dante was recovering slowly.The bullet wound was healing—the doctors said he was lucky, that the damage could have been permanent. But the emotional damage ran deeper. He barely spoke. Barely ate. He stared at the wall, lost in his own thoughts, his eyes hollow and empty.Cassandra stayed by his side. She refused to leave. She talked to him, held his hand, reminded him of everything they'd survived. But he was slipping away from her—drifting into a darkness she couldn't reach."You need to eat," she said softly, holding a spoon to his lips.He turned his head away."Dante.""I'm not hungry.""You haven't eaten in two days.""I'm not hungry."She set the spoon down. Her hand found his."I need you," she whispered. "We need you. You can't give up."He didn't respond.---The visitor arrived the next morning.Cassandra was in the hallway, getting coffee, when she saw her. Elena. Dante's mother. The woman who had betrayed them all.She was dressed in black. Her hair was disheveled. Her f