All Chapters of Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Giovanni leaned back slowly in the lounge chair; the phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes narrowed.The world had turned faster than he anticipated. The winds of change were no longer just blowing; they were howling. And if he didn’t adjust his sails, he’d be swept away.He took a breath, then exhaled slowly and dialed a different number. The line clicked."Yes, Giovanni?" Salvatore’s voice was dry, clipped. There was no warmth. No curiosity. Only a dangerous calm.Giovanni blinked. "How do you know it’s me?""Don’t insult me with stupid questions." Salvatore's tone sharpened. "What do you want?"Giovanni’s hand clenched around the phone. "I want to come back home."There was a silence, taut and heavy."Which home?" Salvatore asked sharply. "The one you tried to tear apart with your self-serving ambition?"Giovanni swallowed. "I’ve realized my mistake.""Have you?" The old Don’s voice held quiet skepticism."Yes." Giovanni’s voice steadied. "I want a meeting. Just you and me. To d

Salvatore looked up from his desk, pen suspended mid-sentence. “You’ve returned,” he said flatly, dismissing the aide with a flick of his fingers.“Close the door behind you,” he instructed.Ivy obeyed.The click of the latch echoed loudly in the cavernous room. Ivy stood still, feeling the weight of Salvatore’s gaze as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. The silence between them stretched and stretched until it almost snapped.“I suppose you expect a warm welcome,” he said at last, his tone dry as ash. “Perhaps even a medal.”Ivy flinched inwardly. “No, sir.”“Good,” he said. “Because you won’t get one. You’ve caused quite the spectacle.”“I didn’t plan any of this—”“You didn’t stop it either,” Salvatore cut in, his voice sharp. “You’re not the first girl to be swept up in the chaos of this family. But unlike the others, you seem to think Lorenzo’s love is a weapon you can wield against us.”“I don’t—”“Don’t interrupt me,” he snapped, not raising his

While Olivia plotted her next move, Isabella was languishing in Luca’s basement. The cold stone floor pressed against her bare skin like a grave—the cement walls sweated with damp, and the air stank of mildew and rust. Her once-lustrous hair hung in greasy clumps around her face. Time had melted into a cruel blur — minutes into hours, hours into days. No one had come. Not for water. Not for food. Not even to gloat. The silence was more terrifying than threats. It was as if the world had moved on and left her to rot in this tomb beneath Luca Santini’s estate. Isabella no longer screamed. Her throat had long since given out. Now she just lay there in a fragile coil, each breath a conscious effort. Her cracked lips mouthed prayers she didn’t believe in, her hands occasionally twitching toward her aching belly when the hunger pains became unbearable.She was a Martinelli, but even steel bends when starved. And yet, something within her refused to die.At first, Isabella thought the sha

Later that evening, dinner was served just after sunset in the formal dining room, the table elegantly set with crystal, candlelight, and freshly clipped flowers from the garden. The long mahogany table stretched between them, but there were still too many empty seats. Olivia’s absence echoed in the room. Isabella and Ken were gone. The household, once bustling with conflicting energies, now felt thinned — haunted by absence, and filled with something unspoken.Ivy sat beside Lorenzo, her hand tucked lightly into his beneath the table. Across from them, Giulia was already halfway through her second glass of wine, visibly brightened by Ivy’s return.“You’re glowing,” Giulia declared, resting her elbow on the table and tilting her head. “Monaco looks good on you.”Ivy laughed softly, her cheeks warm. “Maybe it’s just the Mediterranean air,” she said.Lorenzo smirked. “No. That glow has a name, and it’s me.”Giulia rolled her eyes and muttered, “You wish.” To Ivy, she said, “It’s clearl

“You should’ve seen the suite, Giulia,” Ivy said excitedly as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes dreamy. “It was overlooking the marina, lined with yachts like floating mansions. Lorenzo ordered a private chef, booked out an entire spa just for us. It was unreal.”Giulia arched a skeptical brow, twirling her fork through a bite of fruit. “You make it sound like a fairy tale.”Ivy grinned. “Because it felt like one. Lorenzo actually carried me into the penthouse suite. He said something about not wanting my shoes to touch common marble.”Giulia snorted. “Since when is marble common?”“Exactly,” Ivy said with a light laugh. “That’s how extra he was. But it wasn’t just the luxury. He was... attentive. Patient. It felt like he really wanted me to relax, to enjoy it.”Giulia gave Ivy a long, assessing look. They were having brunch in the Martinelli estate’s private garden.A light breeze carried the scent of gardenia and citrus, rustling the umbrella above the wrought iron table where t