Novel & Cerita Madman Comics

When I open them, Luke is still watching me, waiting. "I need to get my bags," I whisper into the phone. "Luke will take care of everything. Just come to me." This man has always been able to turn my rational mind into chaos. He makes me forget who I am, forget what I want, forget every promise I've made to myself. I hand the phone back to Luke without another word and follow him toward the Range Rover. My legs feel like they're made of water, but I keep walking. I'm such an idiot.

But not only did he not make a fuss about it, he even gave me back my deposit in full. The landlord said, "I know what's happening with your family. It won't be easy for a woman like you to work and take care of your daughter at the same time. If I can help you, I will. But don't forget about me when you come back rich one day." Cara and I moved further to the north, and both of us adapted to life there very well. As for Jack, I heard he had been living his life without any aims and became a thug. Ethan had to support him by sweeping the streets.

He sealed off the entire stretch of sea and called in over a hundred ships to search the waters endlessly. Tony stayed by the water the whole time, refusing to eat, drink, or sleep. Within days, he became unrecognizable. He looked like a madman, with his beard unshaven and his eyes sunken. The media turned the tragedy into a frenzy. [Wife of the Gambinos’ Heir Jumps to Her Death!] [Grand Wedding Becomes Grand Funeral!] [Mafia Heir’s Love Story Ends in Tragedy: Why Did His Beloved Wife Took Her Life?]

I had just ended my phone call with my dad when a text message from my husband, Felix Cole, popped up. Felix: [Jasper won the gold prize in the art competition. I'm holding a celebration party for him tonight. Get everything ready.] Felix was the leader of the Reapers, a powerful local mafia. Every time he held a party, I would be so exhausted that I would feel like a zombie by the end of it.

The heat radiating from him was intense, completely enveloping me, smelling of rich cedarwood, clean linen, and the sharp, smoky trace of expensive scotch. ‘​I’m dreaming,’ I thought, the liquor swirling lazily in my brain, turning my consciousness into a slow-moving fog. ‘Yeah, definitely dreaming. The alcohol finally melted my gray matter.’ ​There was absolutely no logical way the Mad Dog of the Underworld—the cold, ruthless beast who ran this city from the shadows—was carrying a disheveled, barefoot woman down his private hallway like a fragile piece of porcelain. In my past life, men like Lucien Giovanni didn't carry people; they had them dragged away, discarded, or buried.