All Chapters of Taken by the Mafia King: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Killian“I don’t feel evil when I’m with you,” I’d told Sera in my most vulnerable moment. I felt transported back decades, back to the lost boy who never knew what love was. Back then, I’d never cared because it didn’t matter. I would never have love. There was little chance for it in the mafia life.Her ocean-blue eyes had filled with tears and she murmured, “Oh, Killian, you’re anything but evil, especially to me. Would an evil man do what you did for me today? You are good, Killian Ricci. You are good.”But I am still so undeserving, I had thought but didn’t say.When we returned home, I’d never slept so thoroughly, and when I woke, I’d never felt so energized.Now, I was in my office, which had been swiped clean by Detective Douche Briggs. Former detective, I’d heard. My office would be back in order by the end of the week, or else. Seeing the empty drawers and cabinets made my blood boil and threatened to cause me to burst into a fit of rage. This was my shit. No goddamn soul ha

SeraPenny and I supervised as Killian, Tommaso, and Adrian dragged the tree back to the house. Despite their injuries, their strength held true, and it wasn’t long before we were ungracefully shoving it through the back door.One of the pine needles scratched Adrian across the face. He hissed in pain and staggered back. Penny gasped and rushed over, but he waved her off and assured her that he was fine. He was a big man, and he could handle it, but it was a long cut, and blood was running down his cheek.“Just rub some snow on it,” Tommaso said, only half joking.Penny shot him a look without much venom.“I’m fine, Penny,” Adrian assured her, though he looked grateful for her worry. “Once we get the tree inside…”“I’ll bandage you up,” she finished.With a little more shoving and grunting, the tree popped through the doorway. The men agreed that the tree could wait a moment while Adrian got cleaned up. Killian and Tommaso adjusted the ropes, and a sudden sense of mischievousness took

SeraTo take my mind off my anger at Killian, and my anxiety over all the photos of my mother in the attic, Olivia proposed we go to the mall to shop for furniture and decorations. Baby Michael was fussy, and Penelope preferred to stay inside, so I took up Olivia’s offer.And whether he wanted to or not, so did Patrick.“If you two,” he warned from the driver’s seat, “make me carry bags like girlfriends make their boyfriends do, I’m immediately ditching you.”Olivia leaned forward. “Go ahead. See what the Hand of Death has to say about you leaving your post.” She beamed at him, her smile as sweet as venom. “If anything happens to Serafina Bianchi, it’ll be your head.”Patrick swallowed and looked ahead. Olivia tittered in satisfaction and sat back to pat my leg. “You’re so wired, girl. Did Killian mess up or something?”I shook my head. “It’s not just him. I saw some old photos in the attic, is all.”Olivia’s brows rose. “Of what?”I shook my head again. “Just a bunch of people. I don

Sera“Sera Bianchi? What the hell are you doing here?”My mouth dropped open as I stared up at Jim Harrison, the blue-eyed, broad-shouldered gym teacher at Jefferson Middle School. Jim Harrison, the American Dream. My dream, when I had a crush on him just a few months ago. All of a sudden, it seemed like years had passed.Months or years, regardless, he was no less handsome. His face, looking as dumbfounded as I felt, had healed from all the wounds Killian had inflicted on him.My brain could muster no words as my past came rushing back.Then I noticed he was with a woman. Not just any woman, but Eva Jacobs, the pretty sixth grade reading teacher. I had always thought was beautiful and knew how to roll with the punches, which meant she was destined for whatever life she made for herself.They were holding hands.“Sera?” Eva looked me up and down as if trying to decide if I was a figment of her imagination. “Sera, I thought you were—” She clapped her free hand over her mouth to stop he

SeraWhen Olivia, Patrick, and I returned to the mansion, he dropped the wreaths the first chance he got and fled the scene before we could force him to help us decorate. I took no offense and thought it was hilarious.“What a surly teenage boy,” I said, laughing.“Such fragile masculinity for a mafia brute,” she mused. Rubbing her hands together, she glanced around the room. “What should we start dressing up first?”“We should hang the wreaths, of course.”We’d found door hooks in the attic earlier and had hung them up before we left, so it was easy work setting the wreaths on them. Then we wrapped the garland around stair banisters, set fake candles on windowsills, and put window clings of snowmen just above them. We’d bought all sorts of Santas, snowmen, angels, elves, and gingerbread men to sit on every sill, mantel, and side table. Before long, the house was on its way to being Santa’s workshop.Lastly, we wrapped more garland around the tree in the foyer and decorated it with a