All Chapters of The Mafia Devil’s Contractual Wife : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

~Alina~ “What!?” My breath hitched, my entire body freezing as Ethan’s words echoed in my ears. Dennis was Jade’s son. The child she had in her final year of college. The little boy I had helped raise, loved like family. She had told me it was a one-night stand, a mistake. That some random guy at a club had gotten her pregnant and disappeared. She had cried in my arms, sworn she didn’t know who the father was. And I, God, I had believed her. I had stood by her, paid for her pregnancy and after-birth expenses, held her hand through every doctor’s visit, every sleepless night. At one point, I even stole from Dad’s safe and from my mom’s purse, using my family’s money to make sure she and Dennis never lacked anything. I had sacrificed for them. And the whole time…… Ethan was Dennis’s father. A sharp, ugly sob tore from my throat as I stumbled back. “You,” my voice broke, “you lied to me. Both of you.” Jade smirked, completely unbothered. “You shou

~Alina~ The moment the plane touched down in Milan, a wave of nostalgia crashed over me. For a second, I wasn’t a heartbroken, penniless woman. I was a little girl again, running barefoot through the sun-drenched streets, my father’s laughter echoing beside me. I could almost taste the sticky sweetness of gelato on my tongue, feel the warmth of his large hand holding mine as we weaved through the bustling streets. Back then, Milan had been magic. Now, it was just another reminder of everything I had lost. I tightened my grip on the handle of my suitcase, the wheels clicking softly against the airport’s shining floors. The air smelled like freshly brewed espresso, warm pastries, and expensive perfume. I moved through the crowd, my body heavy with exhaustion, my heart heavier with the weight of what awaited me. By the time I slid into the back of a taxi, the midafternoon sun lights washed the streets in a golden glow. The ride was silent. I kept my eyes on the

~Valentino~ I stretched out a hand to her, my gaze locking onto her perfect, full-figured body. For some reason, I had always preferred curvier women. Society glorified tall, thin women with sharp cheekbones and endless legs, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a woman with flesh, softness, and curves that could handle a man like me. Alina had all that and more. Her rich, dark hair cascaded past her back in loose waves, framing a heart-shaped face. Her bright green eyes were filled with fear, an emotion that, for some reason, intrigued me. Her full lips trembled slightly, and her porcelain white skin had lost its color from shock. The maids had dressed her while she was unconscious to avoid any delays, and I had to admit, they did a damn good job. The fitted silk dress hugged her curves perfectly, cinching at the waist before flowing elegantly to the floor. The makeup they applied made her look more mature, stripping away the innocen

~Alina~ His fingers pressed into my thighs, spreading me wider, forcing me to yield to his control. A traitorous shiver rippled down my spine. No. I can’t let him break me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Stop,” I groaned, the silk rope cutting deeper into my skin as I thrashed, my wrists burning. Valentino’s laugh was dark and mocking. “Begging already, principessa? [princess] And here I thought you wanted to make me pay.” His knee shoved between my legs, forcing them wider. The cold air hit my exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze, black with violence, dripping with something worse. Hunger. My stomach churned with disgust. “Get off me!” I spat in his face. The liquid splattered across his cheek. For a second, silence stretched between us. The tension in the air crackled, dangerous and charged. My heart pounded as I waited for his reaction, expecting rage. Violence. Instead, he laughed. A dark, rumbling sound that made

~Valentino~ The dead didn’t give a damn how grand their funeral was. But the Romanos? We buried our kings like saints, then sent them to hell in style. Black silk suffocated the private chapel of Castello Romano, swallowing the walls, the windows, even the light. The air was heavy, thick enough to choke on, the cloying stench of lilies mixing with the sharper, metallic bite of gun oil. Outside, umbrellas leaned against the weeping sky, a sea of black, interrupted only by the shine of gold cufflinks and the occasional flash of a hidden weapon tucked beneath a jacket. Men in sharp black suits lined the pews, heads bowed low in a performance of respect, but the real emotion in the room was fouler. Greed, hunger, and silent joy. I stood at the front, knuckles bleached white where I gripped the edge of Padrino’s coffin. The wood was polished to a high shine, cold under my fingers. I glared at him, an unfamiliar ache blooming in my cold heart. He looked small now. Shrun