All Chapters of Married to the ruthless Billionaire Mafia: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

91 Chapters

I collect things that remind me of the truth

Rose looked at herself in the mirror, her dress hugging her in all the right places. Dante had told her they were going out. He hadn’t said where, and she hadn’t asked. Back in Italy, the word prepare had meant dread, had meant nights where her chest tightened with fear. But here, in Las Vegas, it meant something different. She caught herself blushing at the thought, and that alone unsettled her.When she came downstairs, Dante was waiting. Black again. He wore it like a second skin, his presence filling the space before he even looked at her. His eyes swept over her once, sharp and deliberate, and then he moved toward the door.The SUV rolled through the city, headlights cutting through neon. Rose pressed her palm against the window, watching the Strip blur by, all glitter and noise. When the car slowed, she blinked. A marina stretched ahead, water glimmering beneath the sun. A sleek white yacht waited at the end of the dock, impossible to

Bear me a child and your father’s debt is cleared

The night was quieter than most. No events, no dinners, no hidden tours of the empire Dante had stitched across Las Vegas. It was just the two of them in the penthouse, the city lights spilling in through the glass walls, painting the room in shifting gold and silver.Rose sat curled on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, staring at the skyline. She tried to focus on the horizon, but she could feel him near. Dante had discarded his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows as he nursed a glass of whiskey at the bar. He looked at ease, but she knew better. Dante never really relaxed.The silence pressed on her until she spoke. “Can I ask you something?”He looked up, eyes steady. “You can.”She hesitated. “The contract. What was in it?”For the first time that night, he stilled completely. He set the glass down, walked toward her, and stopped just short of where she sat. The air between them felt sharper.

Can't I cook for my husband?

Rose was awake before the sun broke over the Las Vegas skyline. Sleep had refused to come, her mind turning over Dante’s words from the night before, playing them back until they were carved into her bones. She had cleaned up and dressed, she sat on the bed, looking at Dante’s side of the bed. He didn't sleep there last night, he had told her he needed to work and had been in the study. By the time the clock touched seven, she gave up trying and wandered into the kitchen.For the first time in months, she wanted to cook, she had told the chef not to make breakfast. The silence in the kitchen was almost liberating. She found eggs, butter, and herbs. Her hands worked automatically, memory guiding her as the skillet hissed. The smell of garlic and onions filled the air, soft and warm, and for a moment she wasn’t in a penthouse owned by the Moretti heir. She was just Rose, standing barefoot in a kitchen, cooking.The door opened

Careful Rose, you don't know what you're asking for

Dante leaned back in the leather seat of the idling car, one hand resting on the wheel of his phone, the other on his thigh. The screen glowed faintly with the timer he had set… thirty-nine minutes and some seconds, counting down in silence.He stared at it for a long while before sliding the phone facedown. His reflection stared back at him from the dark glass of the window. For once, he did not like what he saw.He should not have brought her here. It was a weakness, a pure and simple weakness . A man in his position didn’t owe anyone reunions or sentiment. Debt was paid with blood, with money, with silence. Not with favors.And yet… when he saw the way she still dreamed of her father, even when she tried to bury it, he had ordered it. A house bought. Daniel hidden and healed. No strings… at least not visible ones.It made no sense. Rose was supposed to be collateral. A contract. A pawn he married because her father couldn’t pay what h

Are things going to remain the same

The engines hummed, steady and relentless, as the jet cut across the morning sky. Rose sat by the window, hands folded in her lap, her reflection staring back at her in the glass. Las Vegas faded into memory below them, a dream slipping through her fingers, and already the knot in her chest tightened. Italy (a gilded cage with sharper bars) waited.She turned to Dante, who sat across from her, unreadable as ever. His black shirt was buttoned to the throat, jacket sharp, posture flawless. Not a trace of the man who had laughed lightly in Vegas or held her father’s hand in mercy.Her voice broke the silence. “When we get back… are things going to be like before?”His gaze flicked to her, just for a moment, before returning to the glass of water in his hand. He didn’t answer.Rose looked down, chewing her lip, willing herself not to ask again. The truth was in his eyes even if he refused to speak it.Dante leaned back, jaw tight, s

It was business, not pleasure

Back at Corona Nera, reality tightened like a noose. The sprawling villa loomed against the Tuscan hills, its stone walls steeped in power and silence, and yet for Rose it felt less like a home and more like a fortress. In Las Vegas, she had almost forgotten what it meant to be caged. Here, the reminder was constant… each step shadowed by soldiers, each glance weighed and measured.Dante slipped back into his old rhythm as if Vegas had been nothing more than an indulgent dream. He disappeared into meetings with Vittorio, hours upon hours of hushed discussions behind closed doors. He returned late, his jaw taut, his eyes shuttered, his words clipped. The warmth Rose had seen in him days ago was buried deep again, unreachable.But at night, when the villa was quiet and she lay awake in the unfamiliar stillness of her wing, she thought of him. She thought of how he had danced with her beneath the shimmer of chandeliers, his hand steady at her back,

Welcome back home

Rose had taken to spending her afternoons with books again. The thick volumes of law books felt like a lifeline. Two visits to Bella had steadied her nerves somewhat, though Bella’s warning to be wary of Vittorio still lingered in her thoughts.That day, the air was unusually still, the Tuscan sun beating down on the villa’s stone walls. Rose stood on the balcony of her wing, a book forgotten in her lap. Below, she noticed Caterina sitting stiffly in the courtyard, her slim frame shivering as if it were winter, though the heat pressed heavy in the air.Rose frowned. It wasn’t until Caterina tilted her face upward that she understood. A faint discoloration marred the delicate skin near her cheekbone, bruises poorly hidden under powder. Their eyes met. For a second, Rose thought Caterina might say something, but then, as if burned by the contact, she looked away sharply. Her head bowed, her hands wringing the shawl tighter around her.Ro

I see more than you think

His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before he let go. Rose drew in a breath and steadied herself, lifting her chin as if to recover what little composure she had.“You’re distracted,” Dante said. It wasn’t a question. His eyes searched her face, catching every flicker she thought she hid.“I was in the music room,” she replied, too quickly. “I ran into Caterina.”His gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Oh!”Rose hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the bruise, about the pregnancy, about the fear in Caterina’s eyes. But she remembered Luca’s voice in the garden, whispering warnings, planting seeds. Dante is controlling. Dante is cold. If she spoke, would he dismiss her? Or worse, would he already know and not care?She folded her arms lightly, as though bracing herself. “She seemed… unwell.”Dante’s jaw flexed, his tone measured. “Caterina is Luca’s concern.”Rose’s heart sank at the bluntness. She look

It is burning. I can't make it stop

Rose’s chest heaved, her breaths shallow and broken. Every inch of her skin burned, her body betraying her in ways she couldn’t control. The drink’s toxin thrummed through her blood, making it hard to think, harder still to move.Vittorio leaned back in his chair, studying her with cold amusement. “So,” he murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “My son is too weak to touch his bride.” His gaze lingered, sharp and heavy. “Perhaps I should do it for him.”Rose’s eyes snapped to his, terror clawing up her throat. “No—” Her voice cracked, the word pitiful against the weight of his authority.He stood slowly, every movement deliberate. Even in his seventies, he was still healthy, if he wasn't so evil, he would have passed for the aged men in age gap romance stories.He stopped before her, close enough that the scent of cologne and whiskey pressed into her senses, suffocating.“You are still untouched,” Vittorio said softly, his mout

No, I must make you worthy

Dante looked at Rose’s sleepy face and smiled instinctively, when he realised he knew he was fucked up, his mind drifted back to when he saw Vittorio hovering over Rose’s figure.He’d been in the city, handling shipments, and came back earlier than expected. The moment he stepped into the villa, his chest had tightened, sharp, violent, like a hand had reached into his ribs and squeezed his heart until he could barely breathe.It wasn’t the first time.He remembered the first week of their marriage, when Vittorio humiliated her in front of the capos. Dante had felt it then too, that sudden stab in his chest. At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Stress. Guilt. Something explainable. But after the wedding, nothing had been the same.Since then, every time Rose was in trouble, every time she was scared, the pain came. A pull, a violent tug, dragging him toward her whether he wanted it or not.Dante closed the door to Rose’s ch

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