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88: Talk to Me
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The Mafia's Stolen Bride 89: Blood on hands
Exhaling, Rafael ran a hand over his jaw, attempting to dismiss my concerns. "Don't worry about it, babe," he said casually. Refusing to let the matter drop, I grabbed his shirt and held it up to his face. "You were covered in blood, Rafael. If it wasn't yours, then whose was it?" He chuckled, avoiding my gaze and staring down at his hands. Though they appeared clean now, a lingering feeling persisted that they hadn't been earlier. My mind couldn't shake the image of a gruesome massacre. Frustrated, I confronted him, stating, "I may not have all the answers, but I'm involved whether you like it or not." He turned his head, giving me a commanding look that silenced my protests. Seeking solace, I turned my gaze towards the French doors, observing the vibrant colors of the dawning day. It was a symbol of new beginnings, but the fear of what the day held in store clung to me. Changes were coming—changes that brought with them new rules and horrors. In a span of just twenty-four hours,
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 90: Cold and indifferent
And yet, the desire for her burned deep within me, a primal hunger that coursed through my veins like electricity. It was a sadistic yearning unlike anything I had ever experienced before. While our previous encounters had been enticing, the longing I felt for her now reached another level entirely. Her words lingered in my mind, a stark reminder of the kind of man I had become—cold and indifferent. I knew I owed her the respect she deserved, and part of that meant being truthful with her. But I also had to take action to ensure her safety. Locking her down in a different location seemed like the only logical course of action. Dante was the only person in my employ whom I still trusted implicitly. He had proven his loyalty time and time again, even taking bullets for me. I knew he would go to any lengths to protect her. A snarl escaped my lips as I realized how little trust I had left for anyone. It was a bitter realization, a consequence of the treacherous world I inhabited. Letting
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 91: On Silver Platter
I heard her soft gasp, and as she turned to face me, her expression contorted with pain. "What?" she whispered, her voice filled with concern. I clenched my fist, desperately trying to control my anger. "My brother, Stefan. He's in a coma, and the doctors don't think he'll make it. He wasn't involved in our family's business, he was innocent. He took the bullet meant for me. It should have been me lying in that hospital bed, not him. He was the only good part of our family, and now he's fighting for his life." Her hand reached out, her fingers gently touching my face. "You never told me about your brother," she said softly. "Yeah, well, he's been away for a while, working with the Peace Corps. He's a good man, an honest man. And now he's clinging to life because of that damn bastard." "I'm so sorry, Rafael. So sorry. But you are a good man. You have to start believing it," she said, her voice filled with compassion. But believing in my own goodness seemed impossible. I leaned into
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 92: A long life grudge
"Absolutely everything! I will ensure that you and your companions have a splendid feast!" His laughter was hearty, and his face flushed red due to the extra weight he carried. I had often been envious of his seemingly normal life. "That sounds delightful, my friend. I am eagerly looking forward to it. Where is your father?" "You work too much, my friend. You need a wife, someone who will keep you at home in the evenings, and a house filled with children." I chuckled and shook my head. "One day, Russo. One day." I patted him on the shoulder before making my way towards the back room. Luigi had always been accommodating, closing off the private area and keeping a watchful eye whenever I asked. Was I taking a significant risk? Perhaps, but Russo's establishment had always remained under the radar, never mentioned in any way. I had been handling the money collection ever since I was allowed into my father's world. Was the choice of location ironic? Maybe I wanted to test fate. Hell, m
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 93: Just keep her alive
Aleksei Petrov entered the room with an uncharacteristic air of levity, drawing attention from the rest of us. He began pulling out cigars, a rare smile gracing his face. "What's the occasion?" Miguel asked, eagerly accepting one of the cigars. "I have news," Aleksei replied, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. Dominick shook his head, offering me a knowing smile. "Does this mean you and your lovely bride are expecting?" "I found out about that at the wedding," Aleksei chuckled softly to himself as he made his way to the bar, preparing our usual drinks for our alliance meetings. "She gave birth a week ago." "Don't keep us in suspense," I interjected, trying to inject some light-heartedness into the conversation. It was hard to believe that eight months had passed since the Russian situation unfolded. We were the Sons of Darkness, heirs to our fathers' various mafia empires. Over the course of our eighteen months together, we had become friends, strengthening our powerful rea
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 94: Falling hard for
The partnership we had forged over the past two years had proven successful. "I have another idea that I'd like to propose, something for everyone to consider," I carefully voiced my thoughts. Dominick raised an intrigued eyebrow, leaning in closer. "We're all ears. What's on your mind?" It was an unconventional approach, no doubt about it. But it held immense power, capable of securing our control over the entire country, including all the ports within the continental United States. The smaller cartels would never be able to challenge our authority again. Yet, with such significant change came inherent risks. We would become bigger targets, facing a new regime and a fresh generation of adversaries. The possibilities were boundless. And for the first time in years, I felt a spark of excitement for the future, but only if a certain vibrant and spirited woman remained by my side. Against all reason, she was the one I was already falling hard for. The hunt was underway. I had been
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 95: Nothing but a monster
"And you're damn well aware that nobody in my organization had anything to do with that kid's death. It's not our style," he retorted, his voice filled with defiance. He hesitated, eyeing my open jacket with a glare. "As if you have a style. Christ. Did you come here to kill me? That's ballsy, even for a monster like you." I took a deep breath, considering my response carefully. "I suggest you allow me inside, David, unless you want your neighbors to overhear our conversation. Especially since I suspect you're a corrupt agent," I replied, a hint of amusement lacing my words. When he hesitated, I chuckled softly. "Fuck you. I'm not corrupt," he shot back. "Not what I've heard. And if I wanted you dead, Agent Fiennes, your body would already be in the morgue," I countered, my tone dripping with a cold and calculated confidence. Hissing, he reluctantly opened the door wider, granting me entry into his humble abode. His house was far from extravagant; the sparse furniture appeared worn
The Mafia's Stolen Bride 96: Very much alone
Death had been a constant presence in my life since I was a child. I witnessed my father's brutal enforcement of justice, executing one of his own men in cold blood. The nauseating feeling in my stomach that day was etched into my memory, a stark reminder of my father's power and influence. Loss had plagued my family, almost tearing my parents apart years ago. And now, faced with the possibility of Emily's death, I realized how unaccustomed I was to such emotions. I had built walls around my heart, refusing to let anyone in, keeping relationships distant. It was the way my family operated, maintaining control and isolation. Loneliness had become my companion. My father had drilled into me the importance of detachment. If I didn't care about anyone, I wouldn't experience the pain of loss. We were forbidden from having pets in our household, and laughter was a rare occurrence. Holidays were marked by my mother's tears, and my father's absence from our lives was a constant reminder of
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