All Chapters of Married Off To The Merciless Mafia King : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Timur“How much?”I tapped the butt of the pen against the paper spread out on the desk in front of me, perusing over and over again.It was raining outside. Grey skies, gloomy weather,memories.I fucking hated it. Rainy days had somehow proven to be harbingers of bad days over the years. And today was one of them. Something was amiss with the calculation. The figures didn’t match. My eyebrows formed a line between my forehead, and I restarted the analysis, tracing the tip of the pen over the leading points of recently concluded deals, sliding the ink through logistics settled at the hidden routes, expenses at storehouse locations, profits from the establishment, and….I slammed the pen against the paper, feeling the black casing crack underneath my palm. “It doesn’t fucking match.”“How much?” the bald man across the desk nonchalantly repeated, voicing his disinterest in my concerns but rather engrossed in the reason he was seated in my office. I raised my eyes to him.Sitting comfort

Nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars for two hundred kilograms of cocaine. There was one mob who’d do something that crazy: the fucking Italians. They’d done it for years and never bothered with the repercussions that followed. Cheap crooks who wouldn’t hesitate to sell low-quality shit at an affordable price just to keep the cows trooping in. And Bryd here was one of the fucking cows. When the cows ran into problems, they’d clean up, bury, and continue selling.We preferred to deal smarter. Smarter meant more quality. And more quality meant more price.I dropped my pen, sitting up with an annoyed glare. He had my full attention now, and for that, he was going to have to pay somehow if he wasted my fucking time.“So, Colombo’s offering you less, and you’re considering it. Only a fucking crook will sell that amount of coke at that price. And only an idiot will fall into that fucking trap. Listen here,Byrd. To help you, I’m going to do the math, and I’m not going to fucking repeat th

SerenaThe rain had stopped falling about an hour ago, but the air was heavy with wet earth and ozone. Tiptoeing, I grabbed the window and closed the shutters. Droplets clung to the window, glistening like silver tears, but the smell of vanilla was more interesting than gazing at nature’s perfect view of pitch-dark starless skies.Alone and busy, I stood in the kitchen after what seemed like long-stretched minutes of deciding whether or not to bake Jay’s cake. It was his big 17th, and I wanted to make something special for him, something he’d really enjoy. And since I enjoyed baking, and he preferred eating, a cake was going to have to do. It was either that or a 75-inch Ultra flat screen and an Xbox.Nibbling on my lip, I tugged on the sleeve of my pajama shirt, staring at all the ingredients laid out on the counter: flour, sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, baking powder, and milk. I put on my apron, tied my hair back, and took a deep breath, ready to get started.Before our fami

“This…this is outrageous!” Waving the paper midair, eyes zeroed in on me, glaring with instant anger. “My dad died last year, so you can’t get anything from him.”“We are well aware of that because he stopped paying last year.” Eagerly, Arlo gestured toward the contract. “Read the last line.”She did.And she jumped to her feet, red-hot with anger. She was trembling with tears, the prickly pines emerging from within as she got ready to defend her home and her brother with everything. “No.”I sat back, assessing her while she faced my underboss.“Technically, yes. Oliver signed that contract.”“And I don’t care! You…you guys can’t do this. It’s evil. How can his debt pass on to his male blood relative? It washisdebt, and we knew absolutely nothing about it. Jay doesn’t know a thing. Please, I’m begging you. He’s only seventeen. He’s still a child.”“Child, my fucking foot. I cut a man’s finger off at fifteen. Your brother’s already fucked a woman, and you wouldn’t even know.”Realizing

TimurRafayel dealt the cards with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, but his face remained calm.Clicking my tongue distastefully, I leaned backward on a chair, folding up my sleeves. We sat across from each other, the low rumble of thunder muffled in the background. It was supposed to be one of those rare moments when we had some peace, no business to deal with, no chaos to clean up—just a game of cards between brothers—until the clouds gathered.“It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”Rolling the cigar stick between my fingers, I trimmed the end with my cutter. “Sometimes.”“And the dreams?”I fixed the cigar between my lips, bouncing my feet up and down the rug. “Stopped about a year ago. Stop talking, and let’s play.”Fucking lying through my teeth. The dreams hadn’t stopped. Not since that night after I was literally tied to a chair and forced to watch one of my father’s techniques for truth extraction. The aggressive thunderclaps, the artistic splash of red on the walls,