Lahat ng Kabanata ng Marked, Broken and Carrying his Heir: Kabanata 141 - Kabanata 150

His mouth found her breasts. Gentle. Reverent. Taking each nipple carefully. Not biting. Not claiming. Just tasting. Honoring. His tongue circling slowly while his hand cupped the other. Tender. Patient.She sighed. Soft. Real. Her back arching slightly. Not from conditioning. From want. From pleasure given, not taken. Her hand moved to his hair. Fingers threading through. Gentle. Grounding herself on him.He kissed the curve beneath. The soft underside where ribs met flesh. His hands traced her sides. Feeling her breathe. Feeling her present. Alive.She gasped. Small sound. Surprised. Like her body was remembering it could feel good. Could respond to gentleness. Her stomach muscles fluttered under his lips.Down to her stomach. Kissing the flat plane. The slight dip of her navel. His lips warm against skin that had known only use. Now knowing worship.A small moan escaped her. Unguarded. Unplanned. Her hips shifted. Restless. Anticipating. Her face soft. Eyebrows drawn together. Not

She didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. Didn't want to waste a single moment unconscious when she could be present. Feeling. Being.They made love again. Slower this time. Quieter. Her on top now. Taking control. Riding him gently. His hands on her hips. Guiding but not controlling. Supporting. Grounding.She came looking down at him. Watching his face. Seeing him see her. Really her. Novalee. Not the weapon. Not the bride. Just her.They talked between. Whispered things. Promises. Truths."Tomorrow I become Santoro," she said. Voice quiet in the darkness. "But even as his wife. Even with his name. Even trapped in that life. I'll keep you. I'll find ways. I'll make sure—make sure this doesn't end. That you're still mine. That I'm still yours. Somehow. Some way. I promise.""You don't have to promise that," Atlas said. "I don't expect—""I do. I have to. Because you're the only thing keeping me human. The only thing keeping Novalee alive under all of it. And I can't—I won't—lose that. Lose y

The church.Beautiful. Traditional. Catholic. Where generations of Santoros had married. Where power was blessed. Where ownership became holy.Cameras lined the walls. Professional crews. Reporters with microphones. Lights. Equipment. Everything needed to broadcast this. To the world. To Triplicity. To every family, every organization, every power player who needed to see.This wasn't just a wedding. This was a statement. A declaration. A consolidation made public.Dante Santoro marrying his bride. His strategist. His weapon. Showing the world his power. His control. His new order.The girl arrived in a black car. Tinted windows. Guards. Isabella beside her.She wore the dress. Ivory silk and lace. Off-shoulder. Flowing. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless. Veil in place. Ready.The bride.Mrs. Santoro-to-be.And soon to be broadcast across every screen in the criminal underworld. The beautiful bride. The perfect wife. The symbol of Dante's victory.They entered through a side door. Private

The recessional.Music swelled. Triumphant. Victorious. Celebrating.Dante took her hand. Led her back down the aisle. Past the guests. Past the cameras. Past the witnesses.Mr. and Mrs. Santoro.Husband and wife.Legally bound. Forever.The guests applauded. The cameras recorded. The broadcast continued. Showing the world. Showing Triplicity. Showing everyone.Dante's triumph. His beautiful bride. His perfect weapon now legally, permanently his.They exited the church. Into waiting cars. Black. Tinted. Guarded.To the reception. The celebration. The purge.---The venue. A grand estate. Dante's family property. Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect for a wedding.Perfect for executions.Ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. White tablecloths. Flowers everywhere. Elegant. Expensive. Traditional.And cameras. Still recording. Still broadcasting. The reception. The celebration. The consolidation.Guests filtered in. Taking seats. The twelve targets scattered throughout. Marked. Doomed. Unaware.Russo. F

TARGET SEVEN: RICHARDS - THE BACKUPRichards had bodyguards. Two of them. They stepped forward. Drawing guns. Protecting their boss."Stand down," Dante commanded.They didn't. Loyal. Stupid. Dead.She moved. Before they could aim. Before they could fire. Fast. Impossibly fast.First guard. She caught his gun hand. Twisted. Broke his wrist. He dropped the weapon. She caught it. Shot him with his own gun. Close range. Chest. Heart.Second guard. Fired. She was already moving. The bullet caught her side. Clean through. Tearing silk and flesh. Pain flaring hot and sharp.She didn't stop. Didn't slow. Barely registered it.Closed the distance. Kicked his knee. It buckled. He went down. She put two rounds in his head.Blood running down her side now. Her blood mixing with theirs. The dress soaking it up. Red on red. Barely visible.She didn't care. Didn't feel it. The adrenaline. The rush. The pleasure drowning out pain.Both guards dead in seconds.Richards stared. Horrified.She turned t