Todos os capítulos de Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don: Capítulo 131 - Capítulo 140

Two of Lorenzo’s elite guards were already stationed at the doors, standing at attention with their hands behind their backs. The instant they spotted Lorenzo, they straightened even more and offered a respectful nod."Is Dr. Arturo still inside?" Lorenzo asked."Yes, sir," one of them confirmed.Lorenzo didn’t wait. He pushed the doors open and stepped into his grandfather’s suite, Ivy right behind him.Inside, the room smelled faintly of citrus and antiseptic. Dr. Arturo stood near the bedside, giving instructions to one of his assistants.Judy stood in the corner, looking ashen and nervously twisting her hands. The assistant glanced over when the door opened and gave a nod to Arturo.“Lorenzo,” the doctor said, keeping his voice low but urgent. “He’s stable. I checked his vitals. There’s no physical damage, but—”“Tell me exactly what you saw,” Lorenzo interrupted, stepping around the bed so he was face-to-face with Arturo.Arturo’s jaw tightened. “I walked in and found your mother

The corridor outside Salvatore’s private quarters was dim and quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself tightly around Lorenzo’s chest and made it hard to breathe.He stood alone near the east-facing window, arms folded across his chest as he stared out into the deepening night. The garden lights below flickered against the black velvet of the lawn, but he wasn’t seeing any of it. His mind was still replaying the image of his grandfather lying speechless in bed, half a man and yet somehow more human than ever.Lorenzo’s phone buzzed in his breast pocket. He didn’t bother to check the screen. He already knew who it was.With a tight breath, he pulled the phone out and answered. “Giovanni.”The voice on the other end came after a brief pause, smooth but laced with something too deliberate. “You finally picked up.”Lorenzo didn’t respond right away. He glanced toward Salvatore’s door before stepping further down the hall. “I saw your missed call,” he said coolly. “Two nights ago. Th

Ivy’s fingers tightened around the phone. She didn’t need to guess who sent it. Giovanni.Ivy deleted the message immediately and placed the phone face-down beside her plate, her appetite subtly dulled. She said nothing, offered no visible reaction, but inside her mind had gone still.Ivy silently decided that she didn’t owe Giovanni anything. Not anymore. Whatever fragile understanding they once had was now broken, and she wasn’t interested in entering into any shady alliance with him. If he thought he could still twist her into his conspiracies, he was mistaken.Olivia had been dealt with,h and if Giovanni wasn’t careful, he too would be discreetly and efficiently disposed of.Ivy speared a piece of grilled meat and bit into it slowly, chewing as she stared thoughtfully at the flickering candles in the center of the table.She idly wondered what had become of Olivia.-------------------Miles away in another city, Olivia stood by the window, her arms folded across the coarse fabric

Twenty years ago…The soft morning light crept gently through the tall windows of Salvatore Martinelli’s private suite, casting golden lines across the silk bedsheets and plush furnishings. A warm breeze stirred the linen curtains, and the scent of dew-kissed roses from the garden below teased the air. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped a hopeful tune.Salvatore blinked awake, still lying in bed. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling with a soft smile tugging at his lips. Seventy.He whispered it to himself like a private joke. “I’m seventy today.”He felt it — not in his bones, no. Those were still strong. But in the weight of memory. Decades of business victories, bitter betrayals, weddings, funerals, babies born, empires expanded. Yet today, he felt a rare lightness in his chest. Like a man who had climbed a mountain and paused to enjoy the view.He rolled over instinctively, hand reaching for his wife, but found only cool, empty sheets.“Sofia?” he called, half-expecting her to

The Martinelli ballroom shimmered like a fairytale brought to life. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, reflecting off polished marble floors and the delicate champagne hues of the draped curtains. The ceilings arched high above in ornate designs of cherubs and vines, and every inch of the room had been transformed into a masterpiece of decadence. The music from the live orchestra floated over the hum of conversation like a warm velvet cloak.Guests strolled in, a sea of elegance and intrigue. The younger crowd adorned elaborately embroidered masquerade masks: peacock feathers, glittering gemstones, satin ribbons. Their laughter tinkled like bells.Older dignitaries and aristocrats mingled with practiced ease: men in tuxedos, women in tailored gowns, necks glinting with diamonds. A few discreet journalists from top media outlets circled quietly, gathering soundbites and scanning for scandals.The mayor and his wife stood near the ice sculpture centerpiece, speaking w