The Alpha's Mafia Luna novel Chapter 66

The cold air brushed against my skin as I stood frozen outside the

side door of the grand ballroom. The night wind carried whispers

from the party behind me, but I barely heard them. My breath

trembled. Naia’s words echoed louder than the music. Her voice–real,

painful, accusing–rattled every quiet part of me I’d spent months

learning to protect.

“Naia, wait!” I had called, but she was already gone. Gone like the

rest of my past.

“Serene?” Damian’s voice rang out sharply from the corner, his

footsteps hurried. I quickly wiped at my eyes, pressing my palm hard

into my cheek to erase the tear trail. I turned away just in time for

him not to see.

He appeared beside me, eyes narrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

he asked, reaching out to touch my arm.

I opened my mouth, unsure what would fall out. I couldn’t tell him-

not yet. Not now. “It’s-” I paused, clutching my stomach. “I… I think

it’s something I ate. My stomach’s killing me.”

His brows drew together immediately. “Stomach pain? Since when?”

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Chapter 66

I grimaced, faking another wince. “Just started… after dinner. It’s

gotten worse.”

Damian’s body tensed. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“No, Damian, you don’t have to-”

“I said now.” He pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around my

shoulders without waiting for another word. “Taurus is handling the

rest. I need to get you home.”

The drive back was tense. Damian drove faster than usual, his hand

gripping the wheel, eyes checking on me every few seconds. He didn’t

say anything, just kept glancing sideways like he was afraid I might

collapse at any moment. I leaned against the window, letting the

silence wrap around me.

When we pulled into the estate, Mira was waiting on the steps in her

navy–blue heels and silk robe, arms folded.

“You two are back early. Did someone drop wine on her dress or-‘

“She’s sick,” Damian said curtly as he helped me out of the car.

“Stomach pain. Severe.”

“Oh.” Mira blinked, then smirked. “That explains the dramatic exit.”

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“Mira,” Damian warned, and she rolled her eyes but stepped aside.

“Right, right. Get the fragile one inside.”

Inside the house, everything felt too quiet. Damian led me gently to

the couch and grabbed a throw blanket, tucking it around my

shoulders like I might fall apart without it.

“I’ve called the doctor. He’s ten minutes out. Don’t move,” Damian

said as he crouched in front of me, his fingers brushing my wrist to

check my pulse.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

“You’re not,” he said, voice soft but stern. “And I don’t like seeing you

in pain.”

Mira walked in with a bowl of lemon water and placed it loudly on the

coffee table. “I swear, if this is from the shrimp cocktail, I told them it

looked suspicious.” She raised a brow at me, folding her arms. “Are

you going to start throwing up? Please warn me.”

“Mira,” Damian said again.

She raised her hands. “What? I’m just trying to help.”

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