All Chapters of Owned By The Mafia Lord: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

MARCOI stared at the scene before me, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and regrets. Tony lay crumpled on the floor, motionless, and Petrov wasn’t faring any better. My eyes darted back to Danzo, standing tall and smug, his expression carved with triumph. His words echoed in my head, striking me like a hammer with every repetition: This is where your poor planning has gotten you.Poor planning.Was that really it? Was it my fault that Tony and Petrov had been brought to this state? That Sarah was here, caught in Danzo’s grasp, her wide, fearful eyes pleading silently for a rescue I wasn’t sure I could give?You should’ve seen this coming, Marco, I thought bitterly.Danzo had been working against me from the shadows, a viper I had failed to notice until it was too late. But was it just him? Had I been so blind, so arrogant, to think that I had anticipated everything? My chest tightened as my mind spiraled further.Tony’s bloodied face flashed in my mind, followed by Petrov’s ragged brea

Danzo’s grin widened, stretching so far it looked like his face might split. His teeth gleamed like a predator savoring its victory, and the low chuckle that escaped his lips sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t just threatening Sarah—he was savoring the power he held over me. He was playing with her life, and mine, like it was some twisted game.“Look at you, Marco,” he sneered, dragging the barrel of his gun slowly along Sarah’s temple. She flinched, a tremor rippling through her body as she tried to pull away, but his grip on her arm was unyielding. “The big bad hero, huh? All those muscles, all that swagger, all that control you like to throw around. And yet here you are, standing there like a lost little boy. Pathetic.”“Danzo,” I growled, my voice a warning, though my chest felt tight. “Let her go. You’re pushing your luck.”He tilted his head mockingly, his eyes glinting with malice. “Pushing my luck?” he repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think this is about l

MARCO The weight of Danzo on my chest was suffocating. My head throbbed from the blow he’d landed earlier, and my ribs felt like they’d been shattered into pieces. The blade in his hand hovered just inches above me, glinting under the dim light, mocking me with its inevitability. My muscles strained as I pushed against him, but Danzo was relentless, pressing down with the weight of his body and his victory. “Well, Marco,” he sneered, leaning closer. His breath reeked of blood and spite. “Looks like this is it for you. No backup. No miraculous last-minute escape. And this time?” He chuckled, his grin wicked. “No plot armor to save you.” I blinked up at him, barely comprehending the words through the haze of pain clouding my mind. Plot armor? He was mocking me, enjoying every second of his supposed triumph. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but it got caught somewhere between frustration and despair. My body screamed at me to fight back, to do something, but I was pinned and out

MARCOTony was already pulling himself into the driver’s seat, wincing as his hand pressed against the bloody gash on his side. I hesitated, Sarah still limp in my arms, her face pale as death.“You sure you can drive?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “You got shot, Tony. You’re damn lucky it didn’t hit anything vital.”Tony threw me a grin through the rearview mirror, blood smeared across his teeth. “I’ve had worse. Just sit tight and keep her breathing, Marco. I’ll get us there.”“Don’t screw this up,” I growled, climbing into the back seat with Sarah cradled against me. I couldn’t risk leaving her side. Petrov climbed in next to me, clutching his arm where blood seeped through his shirt.Tony snorted, turning the key in the ignition. “You act like I haven’t driven half-dead before.”The tires screeched as we tore out of the lot, and I braced Sarah against me, trying to keep her steady. Her breathing was shallow, her face clammy, and every second that ticked by felt like

MARCOThe doctor motioned for me to follow him into a smaller, sterile-looking room down the hallway. I walked in without hesitation, though my body was screaming for a break. Every step felt like dragging a dead weight. My clothes clung to me, sticky with dried blood and sweat, and the sharp stings of my wounds were becoming impossible to ignore. But showing weakness? That wasn’t an option—not here, not now.“Take a seat,” the doctor said, nodding toward the examination table as he pulled on a pair of gloves. His voice was calm, unnervingly so, like he wasn’t staring at someone who looked like they’d walked out of a warzone.I sat down stiffly, rolling up my sleeves with deliberate movements. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the faint antiseptic scent of the room, making my head swim for a moment.The doctor began gathering supplies from a nearby tray, humming under his breath as though this was just another routine check-up. He grabbed a swab and turned toward me. “Let’s start