All Chapters of The Mafia King's Trophy: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

MatteoI shouldn’t be here. I should wait until morning, let the night cool my temper, but the thought of Amara sitting in that room—staring at those flowers I made her pick—gnaws at me. She needs to understand that I won’t tolerate her overstepping again, but maybe I went too far. Accusing her of manipulating my mother? Even I know how ridiculous that sounds.I stride toward her room, rehearsing what I’ll say. Something to smooth over my earlier accusations without losing the upper hand. Something to remind her of her place without ripping into her the way I did before.But the second I open the door, the words die in my throat.At first, I think she’s sleeping, her body lying too still under the sheets. But then the moonlight catches the dark stain spreading across the floor, the glint of something sharp lying near her hand.Then the broken vase, scattered flowers …and the blood.It’s everywhere.Her wrists are sliced open, the skin jagged and red, the blood pooling around her in a

AmaraThe room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. My body feels heavy, my limbs weighted down by an ache that seems to sink into my bones. My throat is dry, and as I shift, a sharp sting shoots up my arms.I glance down and see the bandages wrapped tightly around my wrists. The sight drags the memory back in vivid detail—the vase breaking, the jagged edge cutting into my skin, the warmth of the blood pooling around me.But I’m here... Alive?The sheets are clean, stark white, and smell faintly of lavender. Everything is too clean, too perfect, like someone scrubbed the entire room free of last night’s mess.I push myself up, wincing as the movement pulls at my arms. It’s then that I notice him.Matteo.He’s slouched in the armchair by the window, his legs stretched out, his head tilted slightly to the side. He’s asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.The sight of him here, in my room, is more jarring than the bandages on my wrists.I move to si

AmaraThe first thing I notice when I wake is the warmth. It’s unfamiliar, close, and wrong. My eyes snap open, and my heart jolts when I see him. Matteo is lying next to me, his green eyes half-lidded but sharp, watching me like a predator watches its prey.I scramble back, pressing my spine into the headboard. “What the hell are you doing?” My voice is hoarse, cracking slightly, but the bite in my tone is still there.He lifts a hand, palm up, in a calming gesture. “Relax, Amara. I’m not here to fight.” His voice is low, almost soothing, which only puts me more on edge. Matteo never soothes.I stare at him, my chest heaving, unsure if I should believe him or start screaming. But something about his expression stops me. He looks… exhausted. Dark circles shadow his sharp eyes, his hair is messier than usual, and his jaw is covered in scruff like he hasn’t bothered to shave in days.“You scared the shit out of me,” I snap, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound composed. “What a

AmaraThe room feels still, almost unnervingly quiet after Matteo leaves. My eyes drift back to the box on the bed, the soft pink pointe shoes nestled inside like a fragile secret. I stare at them for a long time, my mind a mess of thoughts I can’t pin down.An olive branch. That’s what this is.I run my fingers lightly over the satin, the smooth texture almost too perfect. Matteo gave me this. The same man who dragged me into this mess, who broke me down to my lowest, who pushed me so far that I…I stop, shaking my head, unwilling to finish the thought.He doesn’t want me dead. That much is clear now. Maybe he’s even sorry. Maybe guilt is eating away at him the way anger has eaten away at me for weeks.Or maybe he’s playing a game, another manipulation to keep me tethered, to remind me that he holds the strings.I can’t tell. I don’t know which Matteo is real—the cruel, calculating man who thrives on control, or the man who sat on my bed last night, his eyes softer than I’ve ever see

Amara“You don’t hate me,” I say with a smirk. “You never did.”Matteo stares at me like he’s trying to unravel me piece by piece, his green eyes sharp and unrelenting. The weight of his gaze makes my breath hitch, and I don’t know whether I want to look away or lean into him. Before I can decide, he moves.His mouth crashes against mine again, and the intensity steals what little air is left in my lungs. His lips are bruising, his hands possessive as they grip my waist, pulling me flush against him. Every inch of him feels hard and solid, just like his kiss. There’s no tenderness, no hesitation—nothing about Matteo Dragonetti is soft or gentle.And yet, I find myself giving in, matching his intensity, my hands tangling in his hair as if I can hold on to this moment, onto him, even though I know I shouldn’t.When he pulls me closer, his body settling between my legs, my pulse races wildly. His weight is heavy, but it sends a jolt of panic through me when his hands start to roam, one