All Chapters of Owned By The Mafia Lord: Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

MARCO I walked out of the house, the sun already hitting hard against my face like it had a personal vendetta against me. The guards stood stiff by the gates, their faces blank — the same faces I’d been seeing every fucking day while my life burned down to ashes behind these walls. I was certain they didn’t see me. Not really. I could be bleeding out in front of them and they’d still stand there like statues, pretending they didn’t notice how I was breaking apart piece by piece. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, trying to bury the shaking in my fingers. “Get the car ready… the one with tinted windows.” The guard barely nodded before rushing off. None of them would even meet my eyes. Probably because they believed the headlines too — believed I was just another De Luca bastard who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. I stood there waiting, the heat pressing down on my skin, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the weight — the fucking pressure of everything closi

MARCOThe evening was dragging — slow, heavy.The sun had dipped behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange bleeding into the sky, but I was still here, trapped between four walls, waiting for the city to get darker before I moved.The vultures were still outside, media dogs camping at the gates like they were waiting to see me buried. The last thing I needed was another fucking scene. Not after the one I gave them earlier.Tony sat across from me, arms folded, eyes fixed on the glass of whiskey he’d barely touched. The whole room felt like it was holding its breath — silent, thick with smoke and tension.I leaned back in my chair, cigarette between my fingers, eyes pinned to the ceiling as I exhaled slowly.The door knocked twice.Sharp. Precise.Tony’s head turned, then the door cracked open. Petrov stepped in — tall, broad, cold-eyed like always.His heavy boots echoed against the marble floors as he shut the door behind him.The mood in the office shifted instantly — darker, he

MARCONight had swallowed the city whole. The air hung thick, heavy with something I hadn’t felt in a long time. That familiar tension before a job. The kind that made your blood move slower… made every second feel like it was stretching out.I stood in the armory, loading rounds into a Glock magazine, one click at a time. Tony was by the table, checking the sights on an SMG. Petrov leaned against the wall, spinning a knife between his fingers like he was playing with a toothpick.Petrov smirked.“Been a while since we went on a night like this.” He flipped the knife once, catching it clean. “Not since we took out Danzo.”I glanced up at him, the name stirring up old memories I buried deep. “Danzo…”I sighed, sliding the mag into the Glock with a cold snap.“Yeah… I wish the peace had lasted.”Tony looked up from the SMG, his face tired.“We all do.”The room fell quiet for a second. None of us were built for peace, but we learned how to live in it. Now… that was all gone.Petrov brok

MARCOThe city lights blurred through the tinted windows as we cruised down the highway. The engine hummed low, steady. Nobody was talking much, just the faint sound of the radio playing some old blues song under the noise of the tires slicing through wet road.I sat in the backseat, window cracked just enough to let the night air slip in. The blunt burned slow between my fingers — smoke curling up against the roof. I took a long drag, letting the smoke sit heavy in my chest before passing it forward.“Here… calm your nerves.”Tony snorted from the passenger seat, taking it without missing a beat.“Come on, Marco… what the fuck you think this is? First rodeo?” He puffed out a cloud, passing it straight to Petrov in the driver’s seat.Petrov grabbed it with a grin, eyes fixed on the road.“The man’s treating us like fresh meat.” He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “I ain’t been nervous since Danzo’s funeral.”I couldn’t help the faint s

MARCOThe second the lights cut out, my hand went straight for the knife. My fingers curled around the handle tight, the weight fitting into my palm like it was born there. I didn’t reach for the gun. Not yet. Guns made noise. Guns were for men who didn’t know how to move. I wasn’t here to spray bullets aimlessly and paint the whole place in blood unless I really had to.I moved low, sticking close to the wall. My breath steady. My heartbeat calm. The whole building was stirring into chaos — voices barking out orders, footsteps stomping around blindly in the dark. They didn’t know what hit them yet. The picture in my head stayed sharp. Every guard I clocked when I walked in. Every position. Every lazy hand resting too far from a trigger. I carried that image with me now as I crept through the shadows.The first two were exactly where I left them. By the columns. Flashlights flicking left and right, trying to cut through the darkness. Russian accents. I could hear the nervous edge in