All Chapters of Claimed By The Mafia Boss: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

CLEO GARCIADebbie used to knock on my door before she pushed her head inside my space. Now she doesn’t bother with knocking.Debbie pushed her way into my door, holding her phone and looking at the screen like a person who couldn’t tear their face away from whatever it was.Have you seen this?” Debbie asked, tearing her gaze away from her phone to look at me.I was sitting on the toilet seat when she walked straight into my stall. Things I considered boundaries meant nothing to Debbie.Like now she didn’t think she had to wait outside for me to finish.I shot her a glare, hoping it would make her leave and give me some privacy. But Debbie stood her ground, unmoved.“You’re going to want to see this,” she said, holding up her phone.She shook her head from side to side, making it clear that whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like it.I huffed in defeat, yanked some tissue, wiped, and flushed the toilet.“What is it this time?” I asked as I walked over to the sink.Debbie took a minute

ISABELLA GARCIA Cleo waved at me from the other side of the road. It was a rainy Saturday morning and I was meant to be at home resting, or at the mall picking out flowers for the shelves but instead, I was meeting Cleo for breakfast. After she’d made that move at her job, she couldn't afford to mess up again or skip any work days, so Saturday was the only time I could see her. Sundays were too, but Enzo and I loved to say a prayer at the cathedral every Sunday morning.Today, we were meeting up to catch up.Also, Cleo said my mum had called her to get to me. I had completely forgotten about calling Mum back until Cleo told me about her reaching out. Now as Bobby held my hands and the umbrella for me, I thought of the fact that e we were going to talk about my mum over breakfast. My mum was a topic we tried our best to stay away from. It wasn't smooth and easy.I crossed to Cleo’s side of the road.“Isabella,” Cleo called my name out, blinking as she opened her hands to me. “She

CLEO GARCIA Marco stood behind me, guiding me through the basics of snooker. I held my cue stick, resting the tip under my chin as I listened. “It’s a straightforward game,” he explained. “Each player tries to sink their balls into the table pockets. Once all their balls are in, they go for the black ball. Whoever sinks it first wins.” He walked around the rectangular table, stopping on the opposite side. “Some important rules to remember,” he continued. “You can’t claim a set, striped or solid until you sink one of its kind. And if you pocket the black ball before clearing all your balls, you lose instantly.” I glanced at the table. The balls were racked together in a tight triangle. “What if it was an accident?” I asked. “Mistakes have consequences, Chula,” Marco said, bending down to take his first shot. “I’ll go first. If I sink a ball, I keep playing until I miss.” I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t a fair game. Marco was going to beat me easily. Honestly, it was a scam that he

CLEO GARCIA “It was the worst time of my life,” Debbie said, lifting the bottle to her lips. She took a slow, deliberate sip of water before continuing. “I was just a little girl on the school bus, and people loved to mess with the little girl. I sat at the back, kept quiet, and avoided eye contact. Until…” She raised her fingers slightly. There was a memory playing behind her eyelids. I could just tell in the silence of the pause. I reached for the bottle, and Debbie wordlessly pushed it into my palm. The early morning air was crisp as we walked, the quiet streets a stark contrast to the long, exhausting night we had spent clearing our work schedules. A colleague had celebrated his birthday, inviting a few of us from the office out for drinks. Debbie had brought me along, and afterward, I asked her to come over so we could wrap up some unfinished work. I was ready to make friends with her. We hadn’t spent the night exchanging stories or deepening what we knew about each other.

ISABELLA GARCIA Cleo crouched beside me, holding a glass of water. She lifted it to my lips, but I turned my head away, pushing it aside. A few drops spilled onto my chest, cool against my skin, but I didn’t care. My focus was locked on the unfamiliar face before me. I didn't mind the water at that moment. I had my tear-stained eyes on the face I didn't know. “I’m Debbie,” The woman said as an explanation. “We work together. Cleo and I.” Debbie spoke as if introducing herself could fix things. As though knowing her name would make having her here easier. But it wouldn’t. It only made things worse and knowing her name didn't mean I knew her Silence rang out and Debbie stood in the middle of the kitchen as the awkwardness choked every one of us. Cleo moved first. She reached for my hands, and this time, I let her help me up. Debbie hesitated, then stepped back, instinctively giving us space. She had to already know she wasn’t meant to be part of this moment. It wasn't