Lahat ng Kabanata ng MAFIA’S PET: Beg, or worse, Break: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

The copper scent of blood lingered in the air, sharp and nauseating. Aelia’s breath hitched as she stared at the man who had tried to kill her, now groaning on the ground, restrained by security. But she barely registered him, her gaze was locked on Pedro.His white shirt was ruined, sliced open at the sleeve where crimson seeped through the fabric, painting a damning contrast against the pristine white. He didn’t even look at the wound. His eyes were on her.She felt lightheaded, her body still trembling from the attack, but Pedro’s grip on her was solid. Grounding. Infuriating. She was still dazed from how he swiftly pulled her into his embrace and took the cut in his arm.“You’re hurt,” she whispered before she could stop herself.Pedro’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I’m aware, cuore mio.”Her heart stumbled at the Italian endearment, but she refused to acknowledge it. “Let me go now.”His grip didn’t waver. His fingers dug into her wrist just enough to make her pulse jump.

The ride to the villa was quiet. Unusually quiet.Aelia sat still in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into her dress, her mind distant yet hyperaware of the man beside her. Pedro didn’t speak either, his focus on the road, though his occasional glances at her and the slight clench of his jaw told her he wanted to. But for once, she wasn’t ready to fight him.The weight of what happened, of nearly dying, pressed heavily on her chest. And then there was Pedro’s arm, his blood soaking into his sleeve, a wound he took for her.She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to him as he steered them into the villa’s driveway.The same villa.Memories of the last time she was here surfaced, but unlike before, her heart wasn’t hammering in rage. It was something else. Something strange.Guilt. Gratitude.She wasn’t sure which one unsettled her more.Pedro parked and got out without a word, opening her door for her. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping out, her hands smooth

Louisa woke up to an empty space beside her, the warmth of Derrick’s body replaced by the cold sheets. Her heart clenched, disappointment settling deep in her bones. For a brief, foolish moment last night, she had let herself believe things could be different. That after all these years, Derrick might finally stop pretending.She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. ‘You knew better, Louisa.’Sighing, she sat up, the ache of last night lingering in her body. But before she could wallow in her thoughts, the scent of something sweet and buttery drifted into the room. Her stomach twisted, not from regret, but from something entirely unexpected.Curiosity won over pride. She slipped into a robe and padded out of the bedroom, following the scent into the kitchen.Derrick stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, his broad back turned to her as he flipped what looked like French toast onto a plate. His presence, so effortlessly domestic, threw her off balance.For a moment, she just watched him,

The scent of blood and iron thickened the air, stale and suffocating. The dim light barely reached the corners of the abandoned warehouse, where a man sat slumped against a metal chair, his face battered beyond recognition. His breaths were wet, labored, rattling like a dying engine struggling to start.Pedro stood before him, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette burning between his fingers. His shirt was still crisp despite the chaos that had taken place here before his arrival. The man was barely conscious, but his body told a different story—deep bruises, lacerations, and the telltale signs of bones that had been forcefully bent in the wrong directions.Derrick stood nearby, watching the pitiful excuse for an assassin with cold detachment. “He’s tougher than expected,” Derrick murmured. “But he’s slipping. Another hour, and he’ll break.”Pedro exhaled a slow drag of smoke, watching the assassin’s swollen eyelids flutter. “We don’t have another hour,” he said, flicking the cigarette to th

Pedro sat in the back of the car, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listened to the report. His shadow man’s voice was level, but the words hit like a blow.Aelia had left the villa.And worse, he now knew why.“The children,” Derrick muttered from the passenger seat, brows furrowed as he read the incoming messages on his phone. “Food poisoning. All of them except one. The police are involved. It’s being called a targeted attack.”Pedro didn’t move, but something cold slithered through his veins. He knew how much those orphans meant to Aelia. If she had rushed to the hospital without thinking, she was vulnerable.More than that, this wasn’t just an accident.Someone was pulling the strings.Pedro exhaled sharply through his nose. “Get in touch with the hospital director. I want the best doctors on this case. No excuses.”Derrick nodded, already dialing.Pedro turned his gaze out the window, watching the streets blur past. His heart burned at the thought of those children, innoce