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Broken Trust
Last Updated:
2025-04-16 20:07:31
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The door to her room clicked shut behind her with a soft but final sound. Camilla stood motionless for a moment, her heart still racing from the conversation with Riccardo. The weight of his words lingered in the air like smoke—thick and suffocating.The room was lavish, as expected, with a king-sized bed draped in dark velvet, an intricately carved wooden wardrobe, and an oversized desk with a leather chair. But it felt cold, unwelcoming. It was as though everything in the room, even the heavy curtains blocking out the natural light, was designed to isolate her. To make her feel as though she belonged nowhere.She walked to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains to look out at the sprawling mansion grounds. The view was breathtaking, the gardens stretching out beneath the starlit sky. But the beauty of it was lost on her. All she could think of was the cold, calculated man who had orchestrated all of this. The man who believed he had the right to decide her future.Camilla gritt
Last Updated : 2025-04-18The Mafia Protocol The Offer
Camilla slammed the door behind her, the echo cracking through the hallway like thunder. Her hands were shaking, her breath short. Every inch of her screamed to fight, to scream, to tear something apart. But she forced herself to stay quiet. Rage would get her nowhere—not in Riccardo Falcone’s world.She needed a plan.Storming down the hallway, she passed staff who bowed their heads or averted their eyes, as though her presence was an unspoken stain on the perfection of this mansion. She was a guest here, yes—but a guest in a gilded cage.Back in her room, she paced like a trapped animal. Riccardo wanted her to break. That was the game, wasn’t it? Slowly wear her down until she accepted her fate. She refused to be another one of his possessions—another debt collected.A knock on her door made her freeze.“What now?” she muttered.Luca stepped in without waiting for a response. He held something in his hand—an envelope, sealed in deep red wax with the Falcone crest stamped on the fron
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Camilla didn’t sleep that night. She sat by the window, staring out at the moonlit grounds, her thoughts a tangled web of questions, doubts, and whispered what-ifs.Riccardo’s proposal was madness—but it was the kind of madness that made dangerous sense.Marriage. Power. Safety.But at what cost?By morning, the air felt heavier. The mansion moved like a beast waking from slumber—guards pacing, staff whispering, Luca watching. Always watching.By noon, Camilla made up her mind.If she was going to play this game, she was going to play it on her terms.She didn’t want safety. She wanted leverage.Riccardo was in the study when she entered. As always, he looked in control—seated behind a massive mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, fingers steepled. He didn’t look up when she walked in.“I take it you’ve come to accept the offer,” he said smoothly, without preamble.“I’ve come to negotiate,” Camilla replied.That made him glance up.There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Respect, ma
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The morning after their quiet wedding, Camilla woke to the sound of voices outside the bedroom door.She lay still for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the thick curtains. The bed was empty beside her. Riccardo was already gone.Of course he was.Marriage to him didn’t come with breakfast in bed or whispered promises. It came with war councils and cold strategy. And today, Camilla would be introduced to the battlefield.When she stepped into the hallway, Luca was waiting.He gave her a once-over and nodded approvingly. “You clean up well.”Camilla wore a sleek black pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her posture screamed control—even if she wasn’t sure she felt it.“Where is he?” she asked.“Downstairs. With the inner circle.”Her pulse spiked. She hadn’t met all of them yet—Riccardo’s closest allies, the men and women who held influence in every dark corner of the city. Most of them, she was sure, hated her already.She followed Luca t
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Camilla didn’t believe in ghosts.Not the kind that drifted through walls or whispered through shadows.But the kind that wore familiar faces and walked back into your life when you were just starting to breathe again?Yeah. She believed in those.It started with a phone call.She found the burner phone in the drawer of her new desk, tucked away beneath stacks of contracts and security logs. It wasn’t hers. And it hadn’t rung in days.But today, it did.Once.Then again.And again.Three rings. No caller ID.She answered it on the fourth, already tense.“…Hello?”The voice on the other end froze her blood.“Still answering strange phones, Ari?”Her chest locked.It had been four years since she’d heard that voice—smooth, mocking, soaked in charm and poison.Elias.She didn’t speak right away. Her pulse thundered in her ears.“I guess you haven’t changed,” he said. “But then again, neither have I.”Her voice came out clipped. “What do you want?”“To see you, of course. Don’t worry—I’m
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Riccardo knew when Camilla was hiding something.She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stammer. Didn’t give herself away in any obvious way.But her silence stretched longer. Her gaze was too precise. And she held her wine glass like a weapon instead of a comfort.By morning, he’d already dispatched two of his men to scan every CCTV feed from Pier 41, every phone signal in the area, every dock worker who hadn’t clocked in.She hadn’t told him where she’d gone last night—but he knew.She’d gone to face something that wasn’t meant to be faced alone.And that? That infuriated him.Still, when she entered the dining hall, dressed in ivory silk like nothing had happened, he said nothing. Just watched.Camilla met his gaze calmly.“We need to talk,” she said.“I’m listening.”She sat across from him, every movement deliberate.“I need more control.”His brow lifted. “You already have more control than anyone has ever dared ask me for.”“I need access, Riccardo. Not just a seat at your table. I want ful
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The moment Alessandro Morretti left the estate, Riccardo knew.Not because anyone told him. Not because Luca reported it. But because the atmosphere had shifted—thickened with a tension he could feel in his bones.He found Camilla standing alone in the east wing gallery, staring at the abstract portrait that had once belonged to his father. The wine in her hand was untouched.“You spoke to him,” Riccardo said quietly.Camilla didn’t turn around. “I had to.”He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “He’s not a guest. He’s a threat.”“I know what he is.”“Do you?” His voice was sharp now. “Because a woman playing queen doesn’t walk into a den of vipers without telling her king.”Camilla turned then, eyes steady. “You don’t own every move I make.”“You’re my wife.”“And I’m not your pawn.”They stared each other down—two firestorms contained in silk and steel.Camilla finally spoke, voice low. “He gave me a card. Said I’d need it when I realized the devil’s palace wasn’t what it seemed.”
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The rain came in slow sheets, pattering against the tall glass windows of the estate like whispers of a warning. It was just past midnight when Camilla received the message.A burner number. One line.Meet me. Or the truth burns.She didn’t need to guess who sent it.Camilla stood at the edge of the conservatory, staring into the dark expanse of the estate’s gardens. Somewhere beyond the hedges, danger lurked. Not in the form of bullets or blades—but in the shape of a man who knew too much.Elias Black.He was back with leverage. And she knew exactly what secret he wanted to wield.Not hers.Riccardo’s.And that made everything more complicated.She left a message for Isadora to monitor the estate’s perimeter but not to interfere. Then she slipped out through the side entrance, dressed in black, her hair coiled into a bun, no heels this time—only soft soles and silence.The meeting place was a quiet chapel ruins on the outskirts of the Romano territory. The kind of place Elias would
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War had a rhythm.A pulse that beat beneath the city’s skin—throbbing louder each day as Riccardo and Camilla moved their pieces into place. Every phone call, every coded message, every silent nod across a room was another step toward a confrontation that couldn’t be avoided.But in war, it wasn’t just bullets that killed.It was trust.And trust, Camilla was learning, was far more dangerous.The Falcone estate turned into a hive of controlled chaos. Teams of mercenaries were rotated in every six hours, supplies stocked in hidden compartments, escape routes secured. Luca worked double shifts, barking orders as if preparing for a siege.In the war room, Camilla stood before a wall of digital projections—Elias’s known associates, money trails, warehouses, shipping containers flagged for inspection. A red string web of everything he touched.Riccardo entered quietly and moved beside her. “You’ve built a map of his empire.”“I’ve built a noose,” she corrected, her eyes never leaving the b
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The silence was worse than the storm.For forty-eight hours, Elias vanished.No sightings. No communications. No retaliations.The city’s criminal underbelly buzzed with paranoia. The sudden vacuum left by his absence felt unnatural—too quiet, too clean, like the pause before a predator pounced.Camilla didn’t trust it.From the second she opened her eyes that morning, something inside her coiled with unease. The day felt off. The air was too still. Even the guards at the Romano estate walked a little faster, checked corners more carefully.Riccardo noticed it too. He sat in the war room, flanked by Luca and Isadora, his posture rigid as intel streamed in from every contact.“Nothing,” Isadora muttered. “No chatter, no encrypted signals, no dead drops. It’s like he blinked out of existence.”“He didn’t,” Camilla said, pacing near the monitors. “He’s waiting. Watching. Planning something.”Riccardo’s gaze sharpened. “And we’re going to find out what.”By noon, the first sign arrived—wr
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Elias had made his move.Now it was time for Camilla to make hers.The morning after the estate breach, the Romano compound was under lockdown. Extra guards patrolled the grounds, surveillance drones hovered above, and the war room operated on a 24-hour cycle.But the real weapon wasn’t steel or bullets.It was information.Camilla stood before the estate’s digital command screen, the flickering lights of newsfeeds and social channels reflecting in her eyes.“We’ve compiled every traceable link to Elias,” Isadora said, handing her a dossier. “Old aliases. Known associates. Shell companies. He’s been careful—but not perfect.”Camilla flipped through the photos and documents. One picture stood out—a surveillance still of Elias exiting a black car in Venice three years ago. His face was mostly obscured, but the distinctive burn scar across his jaw gave him away.“Is this enough?” Camilla asked.Isadora’s smile was razor-sharp. “With the right spin? It’s more than enough.”Riccardo watche
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The storm came not with thunder, but with a phone call.Camilla was in the west wing library, going over estate ledgers when Luca burst in—face pale, shirt blood-splattered.“It’s Elias,” he said. “He made his move.”Camilla stood instantly, the ledger forgotten. “What did he do?”Luca’s jaw flexed. “Carlo. One of our shipping lieutenants. Found dead in the docks. Shot twice. Execution style. And there was a message.”Her stomach twisted. “What message?”He handed her a folded piece of paper. She opened it with trembling fingers.“For every door you close, I’ll burn down two.”The handwriting was unmistakable.Elias wasn’t bluffing anymore.He was declaring war.The war room was chaos. Phones buzzed, men shouted, and digital maps of the city lit up with pulsing alerts. Camilla entered with Luca, her calm demeanor belying the storm inside her.Riccardo was already there, standing like a general in the heart of a battlefield.“What’s the fallout?” she asked, bypassing the pleasantries.
The Mafia Protocol The Devil’s Secret
The rain came in slow sheets, pattering against the tall glass windows of the estate like whispers of a warning. It was just past midnight when Camilla received the message.A burner number. One line.Meet me. Or the truth burns.She didn’t need to guess who sent it.Camilla stood at the edge of the conservatory, staring into the dark expanse of the estate’s gardens. Somewhere beyond the hedges, danger lurked. Not in the form of bullets or blades—but in the shape of a man who knew too much.Elias Black.He was back with leverage. And she knew exactly what secret he wanted to wield.Not hers.Riccardo’s.And that made everything more complicated.She left a message for Isadora to monitor the estate’s perimeter but not to interfere. Then she slipped out through the side entrance, dressed in black, her hair coiled into a bun, no heels this time—only soft soles and silence.The meeting place was a quiet chapel ruins on the outskirts of the Romano territory. The kind of place Elias would
The Mafia Protocol Smoke and Mirrors
The moment Alessandro Morretti left the estate, Riccardo knew.Not because anyone told him. Not because Luca reported it. But because the atmosphere had shifted—thickened with a tension he could feel in his bones.He found Camilla standing alone in the east wing gallery, staring at the abstract portrait that had once belonged to his father. The wine in her hand was untouched.“You spoke to him,” Riccardo said quietly.Camilla didn’t turn around. “I had to.”He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “He’s not a guest. He’s a threat.”“I know what he is.”“Do you?” His voice was sharp now. “Because a woman playing queen doesn’t walk into a den of vipers without telling her king.”Camilla turned then, eyes steady. “You don’t own every move I make.”“You’re my wife.”“And I’m not your pawn.”They stared each other down—two firestorms contained in silk and steel.Camilla finally spoke, voice low. “He gave me a card. Said I’d need it when I realized the devil’s palace wasn’t what it seemed.”
The Mafia Protocol The Devil’s Whisper
Riccardo knew when Camilla was hiding something.She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stammer. Didn’t give herself away in any obvious way.But her silence stretched longer. Her gaze was too precise. And she held her wine glass like a weapon instead of a comfort.By morning, he’d already dispatched two of his men to scan every CCTV feed from Pier 41, every phone signal in the area, every dock worker who hadn’t clocked in.She hadn’t told him where she’d gone last night—but he knew.She’d gone to face something that wasn’t meant to be faced alone.And that? That infuriated him.Still, when she entered the dining hall, dressed in ivory silk like nothing had happened, he said nothing. Just watched.Camilla met his gaze calmly.“We need to talk,” she said.“I’m listening.”She sat across from him, every movement deliberate.“I need more control.”His brow lifted. “You already have more control than anyone has ever dared ask me for.”“I need access, Riccardo. Not just a seat at your table. I want ful
The Mafia Protocol Ghosts Don’t Stay Buried
Camilla didn’t believe in ghosts.Not the kind that drifted through walls or whispered through shadows.But the kind that wore familiar faces and walked back into your life when you were just starting to breathe again?Yeah. She believed in those.It started with a phone call.She found the burner phone in the drawer of her new desk, tucked away beneath stacks of contracts and security logs. It wasn’t hers. And it hadn’t rung in days.But today, it did.Once.Then again.And again.Three rings. No caller ID.She answered it on the fourth, already tense.“…Hello?”The voice on the other end froze her blood.“Still answering strange phones, Ari?”Her chest locked.It had been four years since she’d heard that voice—smooth, mocking, soaked in charm and poison.Elias.She didn’t speak right away. Her pulse thundered in her ears.“I guess you haven’t changed,” he said. “But then again, neither have I.”Her voice came out clipped. “What do you want?”“To see you, of course. Don’t worry—I’m
The Mafia Protocol The Queen’s Trial
The morning after their quiet wedding, Camilla woke to the sound of voices outside the bedroom door.She lay still for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the thick curtains. The bed was empty beside her. Riccardo was already gone.Of course he was.Marriage to him didn’t come with breakfast in bed or whispered promises. It came with war councils and cold strategy. And today, Camilla would be introduced to the battlefield.When she stepped into the hallway, Luca was waiting.He gave her a once-over and nodded approvingly. “You clean up well.”Camilla wore a sleek black pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her posture screamed control—even if she wasn’t sure she felt it.“Where is he?” she asked.“Downstairs. With the inner circle.”Her pulse spiked. She hadn’t met all of them yet—Riccardo’s closest allies, the men and women who held influence in every dark corner of the city. Most of them, she was sure, hated her already.She followed Luca t
