Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Mafia King's Trophy: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

MarkusI close Nadya’s door behind me, my chest still rising and falling from the high of her falling apart under my mouth. Her taste lingers on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating, and I drag a hand through my hair. She’s my new favorite addiction. Every time I see her unravel beneath me, it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to my veins. I’ve tasted power, blood, and control my entire life, but nothing compares to the way she shatters for me.It’s pathetic how much I already crave more of her. The way she clutches onto me, how her lips part with those little gasps—it’s like she was made to be ruined by me.I can’t believe I was trying to avoid this. Her. It’s fucking laughable.Shaking my head, I adjust my sweats and head down the hall, the cool air doing little to calm the fire still burning under my skin. Just as I turn toward the stairs, one of Matteo’s men approaches.“Boss wants you in his office. Lukas is already there.”Great. If Matteo’s calling us both in, it’s either a shi

MarkusThe morning feels heavier than usual, the weight of betrayal sitting low in my stomach like a sickness I can’t shake. My hands flex at my sides as I walk down the hallway, my jaw locked so tight it aches. I’ve spent the night trying to push her out of my mind, to remind myself exactly who she is and what she’s done. But no matter how many times I replay it, the outcome is the same. I let her in. I trusted her. And she lied.The realization doesn’t just anger me—it fucking guts me. I’m not the kind of man who lets people close, not the kind of man who gives second chances. Trust is a luxury in our world, and I don’t give it easily. But with her, I let my guard slip. I was careful, I kept my distance at first, but it didn’t fucking matter. I still let her get under my skin. And now I get to deal with the aftermath.I push open her bedroom door without knocking. She’s already awake, perched on the edge of the bed, like she was waiting for me. Her hair is still damp from a shower

MarkusI stand in the warehouse, arms crossed, my back leaning against a metal support beam as I scan the dimly lit space. The scent of oil and dust lingers in the air, mixing with the faint bite of cold steel. The tension in the room is fucking suffocating, and every second that passes only makes it worse.Uncle Dante stands near the center of the room, unreadable as ever, his sharp gaze fixed on the warehouse doors. Matteo is beside him, his hands in his pockets, his stance deceptively relaxed, but I know him well enough to see the edge in his shoulders. He’s ready for this to go south. We all are.Lukas is to my left, leaning against the hood of one of the black SUVs parked inside, smirking like this whole situation is just a fucking game to him. But even he’s not running his mouth tonight.And then there’s my father.Domenico stands a few feet from Dante, his usual grim expression locked in place. He’s quiet, but his presence alone carries weight. He doesn’t often get involved in

MarkusMatteo’s pacing the length of his office like a caged animal, muttering curses under his breath, his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. Every so often, he runs a hand through his hair like it might do something to ease the frustration radiating off him. It doesn’t.“That cocky little shit,” he mutters for the tenth time, shaking his head. “Of all the people Dmitri could’ve left here, he had to pick him.”Dante, sitting in his usual spot behind the desk, leans back in his chair, looking far too amused for the situation. He watches Matteo with the kind of patience that only comes with age, like he’s seen this all before, like he expected this exact reaction. He probably did.“You were exactly like him,” Dante drawls, reaching for his glass of whiskey.Matteo stops pacing long enough to glare at him. “The fuck I was.”Dante’s smirk widens. “No? You sure about that?” He takes a slow sip of his drink, unbothered. “Because I seem to remember a certain cocky little shit at his age,

MarkusDante calls the meeting in his office, which means shit just got serious. When I step inside, Matteo’s already there, standing near the bar, swirling a glass of whiskey like it holds the answers to his problems. Lukas leans against the far wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that tells me he’s paying attention.And then there’s Nikolai.The little fucker is sitting in one of the chairs across from Dante’s desk, his usual smirk absent, his jaw tight. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers curled just enough to show he’s wound up. Not cocky, not amused—just tense. It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this, and as much as I hate to admit it, it means something.Dante sits behind his desk, calm as ever, but I know him too well to mistake that calm for indifference. He’s assessing, calculating, deciding what moves to make before anyone else even realizes we’re playing. He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, waiting until I cl