All Chapters of The mafia king’s substitute husband: Chapter 131 - Chapter 139

I MISS YOU SOFIA’S POVGrandpa Elian died three weeks after his ninetieth birthday. He passed away in his sleep, peacefully, without pain. I was the one who found him. I had gone to his room that morning with his tea, as I had done almost every day for the past few months. When I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. The room was quiet, and he lay still beneath the covers, his face relaxed. He looked peaceful. Somehow, that made it a little easier to accept that he was gone. Ninety years was a long life, especially for someone who had endured as much as he had. He had spent his early years believing he was unwanted, yet he had lived long enough to know what it meant to be loved by an entire family. We found the letter in his nightstand, just where he had told us it would be. The envelope bore Grandpa Salvatore’s handwriting, with one name written across the front. Elian. None of us opened it. We agreed to bury it with him. Whatever Salvatore had written, it was meant for

THE DINNERELIAN’S POVThere was one evening I almost left out of my story. I might have forgotten it completely if I hadn’t come across an old note from Rosa tucked between the pages of one of my books. She mentioned a dinner that neither Salvatore nor I thought was worth remembering at the time.It was about a month after the warehouse incident, before our first kiss and before either of us knew what to do with the feelings growing between us.Salvatore came home late that evening. He looked tired, though he said nothing about his day. By then, I had started to recognize that look. It usually meant something had gone wrong with his business, or that he had spent too many hours dealing with people who made his life difficult.I’d already had dinner and was on my way upstairs when I noticed him sitting alone in the dining room. His food was cold, and he was barely touching it.For a moment, I considered leaving him alone. I still wasn’t completely comfortable approaching him whenever

THE LATE MEALELIAN’S POVIt was sometime after one when I gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs for water.The chain had been removed two days earlier, but I still caught myself reaching for my ankle whenever I woke up. I would touch the place where it had been and feel foolish when I remembered there was nothing there.Old habits, I supposed. Some things took longer to leave than others.The house was quiet. Most of the lights were off, except for the one coming from the dining room. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs when I noticed it.Salvatore was still awake.I considered turning around. I could get water from somewhere else in the morning. There was no reason to walk into a room where I wasn’t expecting.But I was already downstairs, and I was thirsty.When I entered the dining room, he was sitting at the long table with his jacket draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up, and there was a plate in front of him. A piece of bread, some cold meat. He

RECORDSNICO’S POVI’ve kept a notebook for as long as I’ve worked for Salvatore. Fifteen years, to be exact.I write down things people overlook. Who owes money, who avoids certain conversations, disagreements. Anything that might become useful later.It’s part of my job to notice things.Salvatore knows about the notebooks. He’s never asked to read them, and I’ve never offered.The morning after the vase broke, I opened a fresh page.I was in the kitchen at six, finishing my coffee, when Marta walked in carrying a cardboard box. Her eyes were red, and she looked as though she’d spent most of the night awake.I glanced at the box.“What’s that?”“The pieces of the vase, sir.”I put my cup down.“Why are you keeping them?”“Mr. Moretti told me to.”She adjusted her grip on the box.“He said I could keep my job too.”I looked at her properly.“Were you expecting to lose it?”She hesitated before telling me what had happened. The vase had slipped from her hands, and Elian had come into

THE LAMPSALVATORE’S POVHis uncle’s voice came back sometime around midnight.You’re letting him walk about the grounds.Salvatore sat behind his desk, staring at a column of figures he’d been trying to make sense of for the better part of an hour. He picked up his pen, checked the numbers again, then put it down.The gate kept coming back to him.The boy standing by the hedge, one hand pressed over his mouth. The colour draining from his face when he’d seen what was happening. And then, of all things, telling the guards he’d been carrying bread rolls.Salvatore had almost laughed at that.Almost.A man who dismissed a baker’s boy as harmless was a man who could get someone killed. He knew that. He’d spent most of his life making sure the people around him knew it too.But when the guard had raised his hand, Salvatore had wanted him to be wrong.That’s how it starts, his uncle said. You allow one thing, then another. Before long, you don’t know where to draw the line.He remembered b