The Mafia King’s Queen
My mother straightened as much as she could, her posture tense, protective, despite her injuries.
And then he appeared.
Nek.
He stepped out from the shadows with a grin that dripped venom, his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets as if he were strolling into a dinner party instead of a dungeon.
“Well, well…” he drawled. “Isn’t this touching?”
My muscles locked with hatred.
My mother stiffened beside me.
Nek approached with deliberate slowness, studying the scene like an art critic inspecting a masterpiece.
“A family reunion,” he said with exaggerated delight. “After so many years. All tears and whispers and heartbreak. Truly, touching.”
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