All Chapters of Oops! I Mistakenly Kidnapped The Mafia Don’s Heir: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Chapter 21Kegan✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦I leaned forward, watching intently.For the first minute, nothing happened. Cristian was breathing hard, eyes wide. The older man sat perfectly still, watching him with the focused intensity of a predator sizing up prey.Finally, Cristian spoke.“Are you okay?” His English was accented but clear. “Did they hurt you?”The older man didn’t respond. Just stared.“I’m Cristian,” he tried again. “I don’t know if you remember—we were on the same team tonight. The job. The house. It all went to shit and—”“I remember.” The older man’s voice was flat. Cold. British accent. Upper class. That kind of accent only came from expensive schools and old money. “I remember you screaming like a child when the shooting started.”Cristian flinched. “I wasn’t—it was my first job like that. I didn’t know it would be—”“You didn’t know?” The older man’s laugh was taunting. “You didn’t know that attacking a mafia compound might involve gunfire? What exactly did you think was goin

Chapter 23 Kegan ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ I pulled into my driveway at four-thirty in the morning, absolutely wrecked. The interrogation had taken longer than expected. Then there’d been cleanup. Then paperwork—because even torture had bureaucratic requirements in the modern mafia. According to my rules. The calls had come from the house phone. I tried to return them, but nobody picked. I assume it was Grazia calling to inform me she was going off to bed. Estelle was hopefully asleep. The last thing I needed was for her to see me looking like an extra from a mob movie who’d had a very bad day at the office. I let myself in quietly, set my keys on the table by the door without making noise. My shoes came off next because hardwood floors were traitors when it came to stealth. I moved through the house in my socks, checking the living room—empty. Kitchen—clean, no signs of the drama. Grazia had left a note on the counter. The girl ate half a bowl of soup. Kept it down. Pain manageabl

Chapter 25 Kegan ⟿❂⟾ I was stirring my espresso in the kitchen—black, no sugar, the way it was meant to be—and tried to look like a man who hadn’t spent the last three hours regretting a split second decision that now had him feeling like a piece of shit. Multitasking at its finest. I’d left Estelle in Luca’s care. She could get comfortable in a room before everyone showed up for dinner. The trackers embedded in James and Cristian were performing beautifully. They’d crossed the border into France around dawn, heading north with the kind of urgency that suggested they were either very confident or very stupid. Probably both. Let them run. They’ll lead us straight to whoever’s actually pulling strings. Particularly Gill. The closer we got to Gill, the easier it’d be to access La Volpe. I’d already sent the intel to Russel. He’d agreed immediately—the man trusted me with psychological warfare better than anyone I knew. What he didn’t understand was why I’d asked him to

Chapter 27 Estelle ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ I packed everything into the suitcase Grazia brought, and tried very hard not to think about how my hands were shaking. I tried not to think about the fact that in approximately four hours, I’d be on a plane flying away from Italy. Flying away from Kegan. Flying away from the entire surreal nightmare that had become my life. Tried and failed spectacularly. I was rolling my luggage down the hallway when I heard voices downstairs. Female voices. Loud ones. “Oh my God, this place is fucking insane!” That was Vivian. I’d recognize that voice anywhere—the same tone she’d used when we’d first arrived at the resort and discovered they had a swim-up bar. “Estelle! Estelle! Girl, where are you? This house is literally bigger than my entire neighborhood!” Despite the heaviness in my chest, despite the way I hadn’t slept more than twenty minutes the entire night, despite the fact that my heart felt like it was made of broken glass—I smiled. They were here.

Chapter 29 Kegan ✦༺⚜︎☠︎⚜︎༻✦ I’d been tracking Estelle for five days. Not in the obsessive way Pietro had been tracking her—though I’d discovered that particular piece of intelligence when I dug into the phone I’d taken from her in Italy. No, my tracking was more from a place of duty. I needed to know if she was safe, and the only way to do that was to understand her patterns. The library every morning at 8:47 AM. Home by 6:15 PM. She took the same route, stopped at the same café for coffee, and visited her friends some afternoons. Her life was small and predictable in a way that made it easy to protect, and it also made it devastatingly easy for someone like Pietro Catalano to exploit. Catalano. Of the Palermo Catalanos. A family that had been trying to move into territory that belonged to families allied with Russel’s territory for the last three years in the guise of a harmless import/export business. A family that understood the value of leverage, and apparently understo