Bound To My Mafia Stepuncles novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142

A POV

! woke up in silk sheets. The smooth fabric felt strange against my skin. I could hear the soft sound of waves crashing somewhere close by. For a moment, I thought i was dreaming. The noise was gentle and calm, nothing like the chaos in my head. But when I sat up, my whole skall throbbed. It felt like someone had cracked it open from the inside.

I blinked, trying to see where I was. The room was bright but quiet. Too quiet. Not the noisy, messy place I called home. Not the triplets‘ house either. This place was… different. Toe still. Too perfect. Too cold. I didn’t belong here.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The floor was cold marble, smooth and shiny beneath my bare feet. The walls were painted a soft cream color, and old chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling in the sunlight. Heavy curtains covered huge windows, and I could see green trees and a blue sky outside.

I looked down at myself. I wasn’t wearing the same ragged clothes from before. These clothes were new–soft fabric, clean and expensive. I smelled a different scent–something flowery and strong. It made my head spin a little more.

I walked toward the door and tried to open it. Locked. I pulled hard. Nothing. I knocked loudly, then banged my fists against the wood.

“Hey! Someone! Let me out!” My voice sounded strange in the big room.

But no one answered.

My heart started to race. I looked around and saw a tray of food near the door–a plate with fresh fruit, some bread, and a glass of water. Everything was untouched. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t want to eat anything here.

I sank down on the floor and let my head fall back against the wall. My mind began to spin in circles. Where am I? How did I get here? How long have I been out? Anger boiled inside me like hot fire. I hated feeling trapped. I hated not knowing.

I stood up again and started pacing the room. My thoughts flashed back to the last days–Cassandra’s voice, cold and sharp, cutting me like a knife. My foster mom’s eyes, full of secrets. That look they both had when they saw me again, like they knew something they wouldn’t tell me.

Who were the triplets really? What game was I caught in? I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. If they thought drugging me would make me obey, they were wrong. I wasn’t scared. I was furious.

Hours passed like this. The sun moved slowly across the sky, and the room grew darker as clouds covered the windows.

Finally, the door creaked open. Dante stepped inside, his face serious and guarded. His eyes held no warmth, only caution.

I didn’t wait for him to say anything.

“Where the hell am I?” 1 demanded, my voice steady but sharp. “Why did you drug me? You said you cared about me. Remember that?”

He looked away, not meeting my eyes.

Then Matteo and Enzo appeared behind him, both tense, watching me closely.

I took a deep breath. “I want answers. Now.”

Dante shook his head. “We can’t explain right now. It’s not safe.”

I laughed, bitter and cold. “You keep saying that. But I’m the one who woke up in a stranger’s bed on another continent. What kind of care is that?”

Enzo was about to speak, but before he could, a sharp voice cut through the air like a knife.

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Chapter 142

“Who is shet

We all froze.

1 turned toward the sound and saw a woman walking across the courtyard outside. Iter heels clicked loudly on the stone path. She wore a silk ree that shimmered in the sun. But what caught my eye—and froze my blood was the gun in her hand, pointed straight at me.

Her eyes were sharp, cold, and full of suspicion. She stopped just a few feet away from the door, staring hard at me like I was a stranger, a threst

“I asked you boys a question,” she said, her voice cold. “Who is this girl? Why is she in my house?”

I didn’t move, I didn’t flinch. I met her eyes with my own.

The triplets moved quickly. Matteo stepped right in front of me, his body a strong shield between me and the woman.

“Pat the gun down, Mamma,” Enzo said, his voice low but firm.

“Not until someone tells me what’s going on,” she snapped, never taking her eyes off me.

I spoke clearly, my voice calm but strong. “My name is Aria. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I didn’t ask to be brought here.”

She stepped closer, and I took in every sharp detail. Her hair was a mix of silver and black, cut into a neat, short bob that framed her face like a crown. There was a grace to her movements, confident and controlled, as if she belonged to another time–classic, elegant, and dangerous all at once. Her eyes were steel–gray, cold and intelligent, like they had seen everything and judged it all. The silk robe she wore shimmered softly, but the gun in her hand was a harsh contrast–a silent warning that she was not someone to cross.

She moved with quiet authority, her silver–streaked hair cut into a sharp bob that spoke of timeless elegance. Her face was lined with experience, each wrinkle telling a story of hard decisions and fierce protection. Her eyes, a piercing gray, held a steady, unyielding gaze that seemed to measure me up in an instant

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