All Chapters of Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Ivy ascended the stairs with a face like thunder, her footsteps clipped and deliberate. The echo of her heels in the corridor rang like warning bells.The dinner had left a sour taste in her mouth, and her brief but unsettling encounter with Giovanni only made it worse.She reached the door of Lorenzo’s suite, now their suite, and pushed it open with a sharp shove. The dimly lit room greeted her with golden ambient lighting from a pair of bedside sconces, casting a warm glow over the plush bedding and elegant furniture. But her gaze immediately zeroed in on the ridiculous sight on the bed.There, sprawled across the cream-colored sheets like a Roman god sculpted in flesh, was Lorenzo. He was bare-chested, reclining on one elbow, the duvet expertly arranged over his hips to protect his modesty — though not so much that the effect was lost.His torso glistened faintly under the soft light, his body toned and inviting. A roguish, seductive smile played on his lips.“Welcome, my love,” he

While Ivy contemplated her uncertain future, Isabella was in her villa in Milan, busy getting ready for her day out with Luca. Plans were already underway for their move to Spain, where a sprawling mansion awaited them in Barcelona, in dire need of furnishings and habitation.It was an ambitious new chapter, one that promised distance, geographically and emotionally, from the chaos that had been her life in the past couple of months. Isabella was ready for a new beginning.Since their engagement, Luca had continued to play the role of a perfect gentleman. He was attentive, generous, and maddeningly chaste. To Isabella’s endless amusement and occasional frustration, he had refused to share her bed until they were legally married.It was a charming sort of restraint, one that she hadn’t expected from a man of his stature or reputation.She found it both sweet and utterly ridiculous. But love, or whatever hybrid emotion now bloomed between them, had a funny way of blurring the lines.Isa

“What the hell?” Giovanni exclaimed. “Put the gun away, Giulia.”“Oh, don’t be scared. It’s not for you,” she said coldly, her voice laced with barely contained fury, while her eyes were locked on Lorenzo’s.“Giulia, please, put the gun away,” Ivy said shakily. “You could hurt yourself.”“That’s the idea,” Giulia said and cocked the gun. Then she pointed the barrel at her temple.“Oh, my God, Giulia. Please, don’t,” Ivy begged.Although she was standing beside Giulia, she was too afraid to grab the gun from her, for fear of accidentally setting it off in the process.Lorenzo, on the other hand, looked unmoved. He remained rigid, staring daggers at Giulia as if he wanted to run up to her and give her a good shaking. “Do something, Lorenzo,” Ivy yelled shakily.“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked, coming onto the scene from the guest quarters. She halted mid-stride when she saw what was happening.She gasped and said, “Giulia, what are you doing?”“Something I should have done a long time

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled Ivy’s bedroom, but it did little to soothe the restless energy coursing through her. She sat cross-legged on the bed, absently twisting the corner of the bedsheet between her fingers, eyes fixed on the faint reflection of herself in the darkened window. The night outside was quiet, but in her mind, the chaos of earlier still played like a film stuck on loop: Giovanni stepping into the line of danger, Lorenzo’s rigid posture, the sound of quick, heavy footsteps in the hall.Ivy exhaled and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The digital clock read 10:37 p.m. She’d told herself to wait until morning, but the knot of uncertainty in her stomach refused to loosen. Without thinking further, she scrolled to Lorenzo’s name and pressed Call. The line rang only once.“Ivy,” Lorenzo’s voice came, low and steady, but with that distinct edge that meant he was still keyed up from the day.“How’s Giovanni?” she asked quickly, bypassing any greeting

“You have a visitor,” an orderly announced from the doorway. His voice was neutral, almost bored, as though the message meant nothing.Olivia didn’t move at first. She remained where she was, standing by the small rectangular window, her gaze fixed beyond the bars, tracing the distant swaying of leaves in the breeze.The greenery beyond the concrete wall looked like a world painted in another lifetime. Since the day they brought her here several weeks ago, she hadn’t been allowed to set foot outside. Her confinement was solitary: an antiseptic cell masquerading as a room, a place where time congealed into a dull, airless existence.The first week, she had refused to eat the watery oatmeal and rubbery bread they called meals. It wasn’t a protest at first, just an instinctive rejection of everything this place represented. But the hunger had become its own weapon, a way to feel some scrap of control.They called it an “involuntary hunger strike” in their reports, as if she were staging