QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 143: Charge Rent

Chapter 143 – Daphne POV

Everything is on track.

Raffaele has finally grown a spine and polished it into something sharp. He’s cold now. Sharp-tongued. Efficient. Exactly the kind of ruthless bastard you need to be when gunning for control of an underground empire.

Progress.

I sit at his side during the meeting. It’s been two months since Valentino died. The mourning period is over. Now it’s blood and money.

We’re here to talk losses, gains, and the vultures circling above Castellano like it’s already a corpse.

Apparently, a handful of minor groups have formed an alliance, hoping to pick at us while we’re busy tearing ourselves apart. Everyone wants a piece of the pie, but none of them have the teeth to chew it.

Raffaele speaks first, calm and clean. Talks about the new contract with the Irish mafia—millions shifting hands, silent agreements signed in smoke-filled rooms. I glance at Luciano and catch the flicker of a crack in his carefully composed face.

I smirk.

Everyone underestimated Raffaele.

He just needed a little push, he’s got the finance part down now we need build a strong viable faction.

"So right now, it’s a call for a truce," Luciano says, voice slick with false diplomacy.

"They want to deal with us. No use winning a sinking ship. So we show them Castellano still stands."

A few half-hearted claps echo across the table.

A truce, my ass.

That’s an open field. A blank check for backdoor murders disguised as "enemy attacks." A lull that lets the most dangerous snakes slither into your home under the guise of peace. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

But fine. Let them play their games.

---

"Daphne," a voice calls, sharp and annoying, just as I’m leaving.

I sigh inwardly. I have plans tonight. A glass of wine, a soft bed, and two very generous, bountiful distractions currently attached to my beloved’s chest. I don’t have time for ugly men with mommy issues.

I turn, hands in my pockets, and find myself face-to-face with Valentino Jr.

Of course.

"What is it?" I say, flatly.

"I don’t have time for this. Release Marco’s wife and children," he demands, frowning like that’s going to intimidate me.

God, he’s really ugly. His villain face is doing him no favors. His mother was supposed to be some famous beauty—guess her genes clocked out early. All daddy’s work, unfortunately.

"Marco?" I blink. "Marco... Marco... hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell."

"Drop the fucking act."

I tilt my head. "Now that you mention it, I do know and... I refuse."

His expression falters. Did he really expect me to fold? Say, ’oh no! okay, fine!’ and skip away? Please.

"You don’t want to piss me off—" he begins.

I cut in smoothly, "Oooh, shiver me timbers. I’m so scared."

He glares. "Let them go or else I’ll—"

"Or else you’ll what?" I take a step closer, towering over him. "Go on. Finish that sentence."

Up close, it’s worse. He’s shorter than me. Unfortunate. Illegitimate son, unimpressive face, no charm, and now vertically challenged? It’s sad really.

He raises his hand toward me.

Oh?

I catch his wrist mid-air and squeeze. Weak bones. No muscle.

I twist. I twist until I hear a delicious little crack, and he gasps in pain. Not even a good scream—just a pathetic whimper.

"Didn’t your mother teach you never to raise a hand to a woman?" I click my tongue.

He snarls through the pain. "As if you’re a woman, you fucking bitch."

Spit flies with the words. I take a step back and wipe my cheek with slow disgust.

"Charming. Really."

I turn on my heel.

"Anyway, me—the dickless man—is leaving now," I toss over my shoulder.

I pause at the door.

"Oh, and by the way—she’s in custody. She asked me for protection. I gave it. Maybe if Marco wasn’t such a shitty husband and father, she wouldn’t have run to me for safety."

I don’t wait for his reaction.

*

"You’re back," Estela says, her voice warm and dry like the room missed me but isn’t ready to admit it.

She’s standing in front of the bed in nothing but a cotton shirt and a pair of soft shorts. Her hair’s up, her feet are bare, and she looks like every good decision I’ve ever made.

She could be in rags and I’d still forget how to speak.

"Yeah," I reply, shrugging off my suit jacket, "where are they?"

She tilts her head.

"They?"

I raise an eyebrow, loosening my tie. "You know who."

Estela sighs like I’m being a menace, which I absolutely am.

But then—she lifts her shirt slowly, deliberately, and tosses it over her shoulder without breaking eye contact.

Her breasts bounce free like they’ve been summoned to a spiritual meeting. I pause mid-unbutton.

"My god," I whisper reverently. "Hello, my darlings. Did you miss me?"

Estela groans. "Really?"

"I’m speaking to them directly," I murmur, stepping closer, hand on my heart.

"It’s been hours. I thought about them during the meeting. That’s love."

Estela crosses her arms under her chest—an unintentional act of violence.

"You haven’t even kissed me yet," she pouts, turning her face away dramatically.

I gasp. "I am kissing you! Spiritually!"

She glares. "You are addressing my boobs like they’re an international delegation."

"They are." I fall to my knees. "Ambassadors of peace. Of hope. Pillars of joy—literally."

"Daphne—"

"Shh," I whisper, already pressing a reverent kiss to the curve of her left breast.

"Let me speak to them."

"Daphne—"

"Don’t interrupt the ritual," I say, kissing the right one now. "I’ve missed you, my loves. Were you treated well in my absence? Did anyone disrespect you?"

Estela is making a face like she doesn’t want to laugh—but she’s losing the battle.

I wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face in her chest, sighing with contentment.

She shakes her head, laughing now, and it’s the best sound in the world. I press another kiss to her collarbone, then trail one lower. Her fingers slide up into my hair and I sigh against her skin.

This. This is the only time I get to breathe.

All the blood, the strategy, the ruthless decisions—I can handle it all. But only because I have this. Her.

Estela guides me toward the bed, her smile turning softer, lazier.

"You know," she whispers as I let her push me back, "you’re lucky I’m not charging you rent for touching me like this."

"Oh, I’d pay," I grin, letting her climb over me. "Whatever the cost."