Todos los capítulos de Forbidden Never Felt This Good: Capítulo 141 - Capítulo 150

Chapter 141~Aria~The ropes bit tightly into my wrists, the rough hemp scratching against my skin, but all of the physical pain was nothing to me compared to the cold fire burning deep in my chest. I sat there, tied to a wooden chair right in the center of the damp warehouse, my head throbbing intensely from the blow in the parking lot. I looked at the man standing beside Joan, Marco.And in that moment the whole pieces were finally clicked together in my mind, it all made sense now. The unknown number, the frantic voice telling me Luca had been in a black SUV accident. It hadn't been a medic or a witness. It had been him, it was Marco. He had used my love for Luca as a bait, knowing very well that I would run blindly into the dark to save him.I looked at Marco, and then at Luca, who was standing a few yards away, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. "So, it was you," I said, my voice echoing in the hollow space. My voice was cold, bold, bloody and steady.Marco shifted

0143~Aria~The silence of the hotel suite was deafening. After the screams, the sirens, and the metallic scent of blood in the warehouse, the luxury of the room felt like a lie. Celine had been rushed to the hospital; the bullet had only grazed her shoulder, a lucky escape from Joan’s fading aim. But the trauma of it all sat heavy in my stomach.Luca was standing by the window, his back to me. He hadn't changed his clothes. The dirt and bloodshed of the rescue were still on him, marking him like a man who had walked through hell."Luca," I said softly.He turned, and the anguish in his gray eyes broke my heart. There were no more masks. No more consigliere coldness. He just looked like a man who was shattered."She’s gone, Aria," he said, his voice a low gravel. "The police have Joan. They’re taking her to a psychiatric ward under heavy guard. And Marco..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening."You did what you had to do," I said, stepping toward him. "He was a traitor. He would have

0145~Aria~The air in my father’s bedroom carried the sharp scent of medicine mixed with the faint traces of tobacco he hadn’t touched in years. It smelled like endings. Like something once powerful quietly slipping away.I stood beside the large mahogany bed, my fingers trembling where they clung to Luca’s hand. His grip tightened around mine steady, grounding, the only thing keeping me upright as the storm I had spent years avoiding finally arrived.My father, Vittorio Santoro, looked smaller than I had ever seen him.The man who had spent decades commanding boardrooms, businesses, and people with effortless authority now looked fragile beneath pale sheets. His skin had lost its warmth, stretched thin against age and illness, and every breath seemed harder than the last.But his eyes remained the same.Sharp.Watchful.Impossible to fool.“Come closer,” he said quietly, his voice rough and uneven.Luca and I stepped toward the bed.I felt the tension in Luca beside me not fear, nev

0147~Aria~The heavy oak doors of the Santoro boardroom opened slowly, the sound echoing through the silence like a challenge.I stepped inside, my heels striking sharply against polished marble.This room had always belonged to my father.Deals had been made here. Empires expanded. Lives ruined or rewritten with a single decision spoken from the chair at the head of the table.And now that chair sat empty.Waiting for me.I wore black not for mourning this time, but for armor. A perfectly tailored suit, sharp lines, clean edges. I didn’t want anyone in this room seeing grief when they looked at me.I wanted them to see leadership.Power.Control.Behind me, Luca walked in step with me.Not behind.Beside.The difference mattered.His suit was immaculate, dark enough to blend into the room while somehow making him stand out anyway. But no expensive tailoring could soften what lived in his eyes that quiet alertness, the instinct to assess every threat before it arrived.He wasn’t stan

0149~Aria~Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office at Santoro headquarters, warming the polished wood and softening the sharp edges of another long day.Months had passed since the warehouse.Months since gunshots, fear, and everything that nearly destroyed us.But sometimes, in quiet moments, the memory still found me.If I closed my eyes long enough, I could still hear the sound of that bullet.Still remember the terror of almost losing everything.A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.“Come in,” I called.The door opened, and Celine stepped inside carrying a stack of reports balanced neatly against her tablet.She moved with quiet confidence now.Professional.The only visible reminder of everything she had survived was the occasional way she adjusted the fabric near her left shoulder where the bullet had grazed her months ago.“The quarterly reports for Marseille are ready,” she said, walking toward my desk.I looked up and smiled.A real smile.Not poli