All Chapters of To Keep a Homeless Mafia Boss: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

CALISTA'S P. O. VThe sterile white walls of the hospital waiting room seemed to amplify the silence between us, a silence thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Niccolo stood before me, his face a canvas of regret and longing, his eyes pleading for a chance, a second chance. But the chasm between us, carved by years of silence and the bitter sting of betrayal, seemed insurmountable.Ilang beses ko na s'yang pinaalis pero mukhang wala s'yang balak na makinig. Lalabas at papasok na lang ulit ako sa hospital room ni Ayi Hana ay nandoon pa rin s'ya sa labas—naghihintay. Kaya para matigil na s'ya sa ginagawa n'ya, naisip ko nang harapin s'ya for once and for all. "Cali," he began, his voice husky with emotion, "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I've changed. I've spent years regretting my choices, wishing I could turn back time." His words washed over me, a tidal wave of regret and longing. I knew he was sincere, I could see it in his eyes, in the way his shoulders

CALI'S P. O. VThe scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon filled the air, a comforting aroma that mingled with the laughter of my son, Lewis, as he toddled around the kitchen, his chubby hands reaching for the colorful toys scattered on the floor. It was a scene of domestic bliss, a far cry from the sterile white walls of the Hong Kong hospital waiting room five years ago. Five years. Five years since Niccolo had walked back into my life, his eyes filled with regret and a desperate hope for a second chance. Five years since I had taken a leap of faith, a chance on a love that had once been shattered. Five years since we had built a life together, a life filled with laughter, love, and the sweet chaos of family. We were married now, our vows whispered under a canopy of blooming cherry blossoms, a symbol of new beginnings. Our wedding was small, intimate, a testament to the journey we had taken, the scars we had overcome. Hana was our maid of honor, her eyes sparkling with joy as s

MARGARET'S P. O. VThe next day. The polished mahogany of Arnaldo Sy’s office felt cold beneath my fingertips. I sat across from him, the scent of expensive leather and old money clinging to the air, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of resentment that coated my tongue. He looked… different here, stripped of the casual charm he exuded at Calista’s birthday party. He was all sharp angles and controlled power, his dark eyes assessing me with a cool detachment that both intrigued and infuriated me.I’d come prepared, a meticulously crafted presentation outlining my investment proposal for SyCorp. It was a substantial offer, enough to significantly boost the company’s bottom line. It wasn't about the money, of course. It was about leverage, a strategic foothold in his world, a means to an end.“Mr. Sy,” I began, my voice smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the tempest raging within me. “I believe SyCorp is on the verge of a significant breakthrough, and I’m eager to be a part o

MARGARET'S P. O. VThe information arrived like a poisoned dart, precise and deadly. Isabella was scheduled to fly to a remote region in the north, leading a relief operation for victims of a recent typhoon. The details were scant, but enough to ignite the cold fire of my ambition. This was it, the opportunity I'd been waiting for, the perfect chance to finally take my plans to the next level. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat accompanying the chilling certainty that consumed me.I paced my opulent apartment, the city lights a glittering backdrop to my dark thoughts. The phone call had been brief, anonymous, a whisper in the night. But the information it contained was a detonator, setting off a chain reaction within me. This wasn't just about acquiring Arnaldo; it was about eliminating the obstacle, removing Isabella from the equation. The thought sent a shiver of exhilaration down my spine, mingling with a chilling sense of dread.The plan formed in my mind, swift

MARGARET'S P. O. VThe polished mahogany of Arnaldo Sy’s office felt different this time, heavier, draped in a somber veil of grief. The air hung thick with unspoken sorrow, a stark contrast to the usual crisp efficiency that permeated the space. Arnaldo sat behind his large desk, his shoulders slumped, his face etched with a weariness that went beyond simple fatigue. He looked older, broken, the vibrant energy that had once characterized him extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness.I approached him slowly, my movements deliberate, my expression carefully crafted to convey sympathy and concern. The news of Isabella’s death had been plastered across every news outlet, a spectacle of tragedy that I had orchestrated with cold precision. Now, I would play the role of the sympathetic friend, the comforting presence in his time of need. My heart, however, felt strangely devoid of emotion, a cold, calculating engine driving my actions.“Arnaldo,” I said softly, my voice laced with a car