Lahat ng Kabanata ng Sold To The Mafia Lord: Kabanata 151 - Kabanata 160

The room shrank around her. The fire hissed in the hearth, smoke twisting upward like questions she was terrified to answer.Emilia’s throat ached. She forced herself to breathe, to speak, though the words clawed out of her like glass.“Who are you?” Her voice wavered. She straightened, sharper this time, as if daring the shadows. “Show me your face.”For a long, suffocating moment, nothing moved. Then, slowly, almost deliberately, the hood shifted. A hand lifted, steady, unhurried.The firelight stretched across features she should never have seen again.Her world stopped.Her breath fractured into a gasp, ragged, tearing at her chest. Her knees weakened beneath her. No—no, it wasn’t possible. The lines of his face were older, harsher, but the jaw, the eyes… they belonged to a ghost.“No,” she whispered, stumbling back a step. “No, you can’t..."Dario turned sharply toward her, his voice edged with confusion. “Emilia? What the hell is it?”She shook her head violently, trembling, eyes

Emilia’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she left Dario estate. Every step back toward Moretti’s estate felt like walking with blood on her hands, though the blood wasn’t Lucien’s, it was hers. Her history. Her secrets. The face of the man she had sworn was dead still lingered in her vision, sharper than firelight, sharper than memory.Her father.The Vulture.She almost wanted to scream, to tear it out of her chest before it devoured her. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not when eyes lingered everywhere.When she reached the corridor near the kitchens, Rosa was already waiting. Arms crossed, expression tight, eyes burning with something between worry and fury.“You’re late,” Rosa said in a harsh whisper. “Now tell me who the vulture is? .”Emilia froze. Her throat was dry, but she kept her chin high. “And if you know I am late, then you know why I can’t stand here and talk.”Rosa stepped forward, blocking her path. “No, we will talk. I told you when you're going, Emilia. If you came b

The wardrobe door creaked as Emilia pulled it open, its polished hinges whispering against the silence of the room. She hadn’t been looking for anything special, just a change of clothes to replace the robe she’d been wearing since dawn. But as she parted the dresses, something fell forward.A photograph.It fluttered down like a wounded bird, landing at her feet.Her breath caught in her chest.Slowly, as though her body already knew the danger of what her mind hadn’t yet accepted, she crouched and picked it up.It was old, edges curled with time, but the faces were unmistakable.A man, him. The Vulture. Younger, thinner, but those same eyes. And beside him… a little girl in a bright summer dress, her hair tied back with a red ribbon, smiling in that way children do when they still believe their world can be safe.Herself.Emilia’s stomach twisted.It wasn’t just that the photograph existed, it was where she had found it. Tucked into the folds of her wardrobe. Her wardrobe. Inside Luc

The Moretti estate was unusually quiet that morning. The stillness carried the weight of storms gathering, like the house itself was holding its breath.Lucien was in the study, the morning light spilling in slanted beams across the polished mahogany table where untouched coffee sat cooling in porcelain cups. His posture was deceptively calm, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, the other slowly flipping through a folder of council reports. But beneath that surface calm, his mind was alive, circling the night before, Emilia’s words, her sudden request, the way she clutched him afterward in bed as if holding on for dear life.She wanted in.For the first time since she came under his roof, Emilia had asked to sit with him at the table of power, not merely as a pawn or ornament, but as a player. She wanted to be briefed, she wanted to help root out the traitor, she wanted to understand the shadow of the Vulture.Lucien had agreed. Part of him was curious to see what Emilia would do

Lucien Moretti had never been a man who questioned his choices. In his world, hesitation was not a luxury, it was death wearing another name. A leader who faltered was a leader already bled out on the marble floor.And yet, that morning, standing outside Emilia’s chamber with the faint scent of her perfume still clinging to his skin, Lucien hesitated.She had been a storm, silk draped like armor, eyes burning with defiance, lips painted to cut the silence like a blade. He had seen her as both queen and threat, and he had done what came most naturally, claimed her, silenced her, reminded her whose empire she wanted to stand beside.But even in the aftermath, when her body had softened against his and her fury trembled beneath her skin, something gnawed at him. She was hiding something. Secrets. Shadows. And he was not a man who tolerated either, not from his enemies, and certainly not from the woman lying in his bed.You are not going to the boardroom, he had told her. He had meant ever