All Chapters of The Mafia's Substitute Bride: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Unfortunately it all started with a single post.It was anonymous, however low quality, and without a watermark. Just a thirty-eight-second video taken from the dim corner of a private industry bar—smoky, exclusive, it was the kind of place where all staffs and customers probably were made to sign NDAs for the menu would be given.At the center of the video was Marco DeLuca, surrounded by a circle of half-drunk agents, actors, and producers. They were laughing so loudly. In the background, champagne bottles popped while someone shouted that they'd just secured a major deal—an international show, with streaming rights sold across multiple countries.Marco raised his glass to toast.“A toast,” One of them called out, cheering.He chuckled and replied, “A toast moving on and succeeding.”They all clinked their glasses and downed the liquid in it in few gulps.“Stupid bitch fakes a breakdown and the world throws her a pity party, and I’m the bad guy? Fuck that. She wanted fame, well now s

Valentina received an email at 6:08 AM. Olive handed her the tablet with two fingers, brows raised. “This was flagged by media monitoring.”Val didn’t touch it yet. She finished her espresso, perfectly calm. She was in Lucas’ study, bare-faced, wearing one of his shirts, feet tucked under her on the armchair like she had all the time in the world.“What is it?” she asked.Olive shrugged. “Docuseries pitch. Your name’s in it.”Val didn’t raise a brow, didn’t blink. She just reached out, tapped the screen, and started scrolling.It was an industry pitch deck — clean fonts, grey-blue branding, overly ambitious tone. Streaming platform attached. Documented “female downfall and social media redemption,” centered around Alecia DeLuca’s public breakdown. But by page twelve, the framing shifted.They weren’t just telling Alecia’s story. They were rewriting Valentina’s.Page fourteen labeled her “The Ice Twin.” Page fifteen described her as “emotionally unavailable, raised to be desirable, yet

The DeLuca estate felt heavier than usual that morning. Not in any literal sense, of course, but in a suffocating way a house did when everyone inside it already knew to keep their heads down. Conversations barely happened, the footsteps sounded softer than usual. Nobody stayed where they didn’t absolutely need to be. They’d all learned the rhythm of Antonio’s silences over the years. Especially on days like this. Days when he didn’t want noise clouding his mind.He sat in the lounge with a drink in hand, though anyone paying attention could see it hadn’t been touched. He wasn’t drinking. He was staring through the glass doors like he could already see something coming for him from a distance. Maybe he could. Or maybe he just liked to pretend he could. The whiskey sat sweating in his glass, the ice melting slow as time itself.His phone buzzed once on the table beside him. A glance told him all he needed to know — the gates had confirmed Bianca’s arrival.When the door opened, Bianca

THE NEXT DAYOlive pulled the car to a smooth stop outside the hospital entrance just a little before noon. She glanced up at the rearview mirror, waiting to see if Valentina wanted to make some offhand comment — about the weather, the route they’d taken, or maybe even about how the tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased since yesterday afternoon. But Val didn’t say anything. She simply opened the door and stepped out into the soft midday air without a word.The flowers by the reception desk were new. Fresh lilies, different from the ones she’d noticed yesterday, arranged neatly in a glass vase, their white petals bright against the polished floors. The security guard gave her a polite nod of recognition as she passed, and Val returned it faintly without breaking stride.Upstairs, her mother’s things were already packed and waiting beside the bed all were a small suitcase, two handbags, a paper shopping bag from the hospital’s gift shop which had Just clothes, a few books, the bare nec

The hospital room reeked of that weird, institutional freshness that's supposed to make you feel better but only seems to make your nose hairs curl. Like someone had poured a bottle of bleach into the walls and then scrubbed the whole place with a mixture of desperation and regret. The TV in the corner droned on about the weather, but nobody was listening. The anchor's voice was sedative though.Robert DeLuca lay beneath white sheets, he was too still to look alive if not for the machines insisting otherwise. One arm cradled in monitors, the other mapped in bruises where IVs had come and gone. The machines hummed softly, steady and worrying, marking time he wasn’t earning for himself, if Alecia was here she definitely would've done something about it. His chest rose and fell beneath the sterile blankets with the rhythm of his ragged breathing it was as if the bullet holes hurt from breathing. There were white bandages wrapped tightly and brutally around his side like a warning. Undern