All Chapters of Owned By The Mafia Lord: Chapter 301 - Chapter 310

MARCELShe slammed the door so hard the windows shook. I didn’t even flinch. Just sat there, glass in my hand, eyes steady on the dark wood of my desk. She was pale, her eyes swollen from crying. Her hair was a mess. Makeup streaked. She looked like someone had ripped her open and poured salt in the wound.“Damien is dead!” she screamed.Her voice cracked halfway through it. Like her lungs couldn’t even hold the weight of the words. She wasn’t just saying it. She was falling apart as it left her mouth.I didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t need to. I took a slow sip of my drink and leaned back.She stared at me like I was supposed to get up and scream. Like I should punch a wall or flip the desk. She was waiting for me to be human about it.I wasn’t.“It was bound to happen,” I said, calm. Cold.Her face twisted. “That’s all you have to say?”“This is war, Isabella,” I said. “Casualties were always on the table. I’m not Superman. I couldn’t save him.”“You son of a bitch.”She walk

MARCOI stood in front of the mirror, elbows on the sink, just staring at myself. Same face, same eyes, but none of it looked familiar anymore. I was pale. Eyes darker. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten anything that stayed down. My beard was growing in patchy. My shirt was wrinkled. Tie loose. I looked like I’d been hit by a truck and dragged for miles. Maybe I had. Just not the kind that leaves tire marks.She was still gone.I gripped the edge of the sink tighter. My knuckles went white. I stared at my reflection and saw everything I’d lost.Sarah.She was out there. Somewhere. I didn’t know where. I didn’t know if she was safe or suffering. I didn’t know if she was being fed or locked in some cage. I didn’t know if she was being hit, or worse. My stomach turned at that. My heart beat faster every time my mind went there.I hated not knowing.I kept waiting for something. A message. A call. A note. Some kind of signal that Marcel wanted to talk. That he wanted to bargain. But there wa

We pulled up two blocks from the warehouse. The SUV came to a slow crawl and stopped, engine running low, like it didn’t want to be heard. The street was dead. Not a single soul out. No cars. No movement. Just the faint buzz of streetlights and the wind dragging trash down the road.I stared out the window, eyes locked on the building sitting in the middle of the block like it was waiting for something to happen. Cracked bricks, rusted windows, a chain-link fence barely standing, like the place was already giving up. But I knew better. That warehouse wasn’t empty. It was hiding something. Hiding her.I turned and looked at the crew. Tony in the front, sliding a mag into his piece, no emotion on his face. Petrov behind me, checking his rifle, smooth and silent. The other two, focused, guns in their laps, eyes on me. Nobody said a word. They didn’t need to. We weren’t here to talk. We were here to finish this.I gave a slow nod. They moved. Tony and the guy beside him slipped out to the

MARCOI sat silently in the SUV, my head leaning against the window, watching the city pass by like it didn’t just eat me alive. The lights, the streets, the people… all of it blurred together while my mind stayed locked on that damn warehouse. My jaw clenched. I didn’t say a word. There was nothing to say.Marcel played me. He fucking played me like a damn puppet. The whole thing was a trap from the start. He knew we were coming. He was ten steps ahead of us, watching, laughing. Every bullet we spent, every man we lost, every second we wasted thinking we were doing something smart… it was all for nothing. We didn’t win anything. We didn’t find Sarah. That wasn’t Sarah.I whispered it to myself, bitter and broken. “He planned it all. He knew we were coming. He really planted that girl there to make me think that was Sarah.”Petrov kept driving like he always does, calm and quiet. Tony sat beside me, looking straight ahead, no words. What could they say? They knew. They felt it too. Bu

MARCOI stood in front of the board again. Maps. Pins. Strings. Scribbled notes. All of it looking back at me like it had answers. But it didn’t. Not yet.The Bronx setup still replayed in my head. That moment when I saw her. The fake her. How sure I was. The way her hair smelled. Her trembling hands. For a second, I let myself believe it was Sarah. I let my guard down. I walked right into Marcel’s damn show. And he played me like a fool.I stepped closer to the board, staring at a red pin that marked another location upstate. The lead had was still weak, a whisper from a runner who barely made it out alive. But I kept it. I kept every maybe. Because right now, a maybe was all I had.I dragged my fingers through my hair, jaw tight. Every goddamn angle I took just looped me back here. To this board. This silence. And her still missing.“Where the fuck are you, Sarah?” I muttered.The room was dim. Just the lamp by the desk on. Everyone in the house knew to stay away when that light was