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Chapter 11: Dontrell's POV—Bloodlines.
Last Updated:
2024-12-28 20:51:09
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 12: Divided Allegiances.
The door clicked shut behind me as I stepped into the room. My father sat in the centre of the room, expression unreadable, framed by the chandelier light. The room carried an air of suffocation—a mix of cigar smoke and silence so heavy it seemed to choke any sense of comfort. Clayton leaned against the far wall, coiled, ready to strike. Andrew stood near the window, his arms crossed and his posture relaxed but calculated. Two additional bodyguards loomed by the door, their eyes fixed on me. I held up a hand, stopping any attempts at conversation. "Give me a moment." I walked past them into my closet, shutting the door. The hangers clicked as I pulled on black slacks and a shirt. No shoes, no jacket—this was still my house, even if it felt like enemy territory presently. When I returned, I found Clayton pacing, his anger almost palpable. My father hadn’t moved from his position, his demeanour as though he owned not just the room but everyone in it. When I returned to the room, Clay
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I froze in the bathroom doorway, my pulse racing. The air around me was thick with tension, the echoes of the women’s cries still haunting my ears. But it was his eyes—dark and piercing—that held me captive. “Come here, Dove,” he said, his voice like velvet and steel.My feet felt glued to the floor, and my body refused to move. “I won’t ask again,” Dontrell warned, his tone colder now.My feet began already betraying me as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, each step feeling like a death sentence. When I stopped in front of him, Dontrell reached out, grabbing my neck. His touch was gentle but heavy, like a shackle, locking me in place.“Were you listening?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.I swallowed, panic rising in my chest. I couldn’t lie to him. He’d see through it instantly.“I heard... some things,” I said, my voice shaking.He studied me for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line. “You shouldn’t have.”“I didn’t mean to,” I rushed to explain. “I hea
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The snap of the bracelet echoed through the room, and the tiny beads scattered like shattered stars across the cold marble floor. “No! No!” I screamed, dropping to my knees, hands trembling as I frantically tried to gather them. Each bead that slipped felt like my heart breaking again."“Why would you do this?” I choked, my voice raw.“Because you need to let go of him,” Dontrell said, his voice sharp but laced with something deeper. “You can’t keep living in the past.”I looked up, tears falling. “You don’t get it! This wasn’t just a bracelet—it was all I had left of her!”He rubbed his eyes. “I understand more than you think. I’ve lost more than you know. But that bracelet—it's a chain from your father. It's keeping you trapped.”You don’t get to decide that for me!” I shouted, clutching the broken strands. Memories flooded back—my mother weakly smiling in her hospital bed, slipping the bracelet onto my wrist. “Each charm represents us,” she whispered: the heart for you, the crown
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Clayton’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and merciless. “Dorothy said you’ve decided not to eat.” His tone was heavy, laced with lethal authority.I flinched. Each time I saw him, I remembered the sting of his slap, the humiliation of our first meeting. I was terrified of him. Every time I saw him, I remembered his hand striking my face the first time we met, the force of it, the humiliation. He knew I feared him. That’s why he was here—to force me to eat. “I—I’m not feeling fine,” I stammered, my words trembling as I met his hard gaze, though the way his eyebrow arched told me he didn’t care.His lips curled into a humourless smirk. “I don’t care what’s wrong with you. In this house, when you’re told to do something, you do it, eating included. That free will, Dontrell has spoilt you with, ends now.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my gaze. “I’ll eat now.” “Not like you have a choice,” he retorted, annoyance lacing his tone. Clayton closed the distance, the tray still
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The darkness of the abandoned lot wrapped around me like a predator stalking its prey, the warehouse looming ahead with its metal frame groaning under decay. I gripped the crumpled paper tighter in my fist, the name "Simeon and his address" scrawled in my father’s messy handwriting fuelling the fire raging in my chest.He was out. Out of the Circle's Pit, the place where men like him—snakes, liars, and traitors—were sent to rot. I didn’t care how he clawed his way out; I cared about one thing: answers.The photograph of Allison burnt in my pocket like a brand, the memory of its haunting details as sharp as a blade. Her face, so delicate and pure, didn’t belong in the pocket of a dead man—a thief who thought he could cross the Blade family. And that "11-11," marked on the back with an ominous X? That wasn’t just a coincidence. That was a threat.And threats against Allison? Those were punishable by death.I kicked open the warehouse door, the rusty hinges shrieking in protest. Dust and
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I kept the gun steady, pressing it against Simeon. His desperation was palpable, but I couldn’t let him wiggle his way out of this. His words were like a drop of water in the face of a storm, but the truth was what I needed. He gasped, still clutching his broken arm. "I—I swear, I don’t know all the details," he stuttered, his voice laced with fear. "But Ragent... he was working with someone higher up. Someone willing to pay millions.”“I don’t know their names!" Simeon’s voice cracked with panic. "But it’s serious—dangerous. Ragent said they’re connected to something called ‘11-11.’ I have no idea what it means, I swear! He didn’t tell me everything!"I leaned in, eyes narrowing, my grip on the gun, my boot twisting on his chest, digging deeper. "Who the hell is '11-11'?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.Simeon swallowed hard, his face pale. "I... I don’t know! But Ragent said it was bigger than anything we could imagine. He told me that whoever was behind it... had plans for
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The garden stretched far from the mansion, shielded by tall hedges and glowing lanterns; it was late. I moved quietly, avoiding the Blade guards. My heart raced—each step a risk—but I had to see Andrew. The pathway led to a small cottage shed at its farthest corner. Polished and elegant, with white walls and a barn door. I quickened my pace, breath coming in soft gasps as I approached the building.“Andrew?” I called softly, peering around the shed. My voice barely rose above the evening breeze, but there was no reply. My hands brushed the shed’s cool door handle. Then, out of nowhere, a hand shot out from behind the door and yanked me inside.I barely had time to react as Andrew slammed the door shut with a soft click.Inside, the shed was more spacious than it seemed from outside. The polished wooden floor carried a faint scent of cedar. A leather armchair sat in the corner, and a lantern on the center table cast a warm glow. But none of that mattered. My focus was solely on Andrew
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The words froze in the air. I watched her, waiting for a reaction, but she only stared at the floor, stunned. She hadn’t expected it—neither had I. My confession hit like a punch, and I couldn’t take it back. Every part of me screamed for her, but I’d crossed a line.She looked up, her hurt slicing through me. “You would’ve married me?”“Yeah, I would’ve,” I said, my voice steady. “But your father wouldn’t have let me near you. My reputation precedes me. I’m the ‘killer bodyguard’ of the Blade family, remember?”“Are you serious right now?” She asked, her disbelief evident.“Don’t make me say it again,” I murmured, my voice rough. “You have no idea how much I fucking hate seeing you with him.”I stepped forward, trying to close the distance, but she backed away. I couldn’t blame her. She scoffed. “Mr. Blade wouldn’t let me marry you either. You don’t have his surname.”I clenched my jaw, her words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “I don’t need his surname,” I fired back, starin
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The ground beneath me swayed like I stood on the edge of an abyss. My pulse thundered in my ears, muffling the voices around me.Mr Blade’s stare held me captive—cold, unreadable. Clayton’s gaze was no softer, sharp as a knife. Doris stood frozen, barely breathing.I was trapped.I let go of her hand, but the weight of the moment didn’t lessen.“Go on.” Mr Blade’s calm voice masked steel. “Tell her what you want to tell her. Nobody else has to hear.”I scoffed, my lips curling in defiance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”His face hardened. “Speak.” The command cracked like a whip.A presence shifted beside him. Dontrell. He had been at the burial front, yet somehow, he stood here, appearing as if from thin air.“Is there a problem here?” Dontrell asked his father. His voice was calm, but his stance bristled with power. “I heard your voice from a distance.”Mr Blade’s lips curled in displeasure. “No problem… unless your wife wants one.”Dontrell’s posture stiffened, his eyes
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I hadn’t left the living room, just shifted—hitting Dontrell, striking Clayton, demanding answers they didn’t have. How did they let this happen? Why didn’t they save him?At some point, a guard tried holding me back. I slapped him too. But none of it mattered. Andrew was still gone.Now, It was nearly four a.m., and I was still here. Neither Dontrell nor Clayton had left. They had told me to go to bed, but how could I close my eyes after what had happened?The phone calls never stopped all night. Different numbers, different voices, different updates. The Blade men were already hunting a name—Rocco Valeri. The bastard who killed Andrew. I sometimes forgot how ruthless and skilled the Blades were—especially with their own enemies.I prayed they found him. But I also knew something. When the Blade family hunts a foe, they don't seek revenge, they seek annihilation.I hadn't even realized I had dozed off until the sound of heavy boots storming into the living room jolted me awake. I s
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The moment I stepped out of the airport, the first thing I saw was Dontrell—he leaned against the bulletproof SUV, arms crossed, unreadable. Clayton sat in the front, scanning the surroundings.Immediately I got in, Clayton fired up the engine, jaw tight, steering through the busy street.Five armored cars flanked us—two ahead, three behind, like an iron wall. But inside our bulletproof ride, it was just us.Dontrell sat beside me, loading his gun with practiced ease. I did the same, checked my rounds, cocked my weapon, tightened my vest. The car smelled of gun oil and adrenaline."Trust’s a luxury I can’t afford," Dontrell muttered, reloading. "That’s why Clayton’s driving." He tossed me a gun. "This conversation stays between us."I nodded, my fingers tightening around the cold steel in my hands, fully loaded. No safety. No bullshit. “Talk to me.” Clayton pulled onto the road, leading the convoy as we sped out of the city. The silence was heavy. The kind before war.Dontrell unzip
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Alone in the mansion, I curled up on the velvet couch, flipping through a book I wasn’t even reading. The television murmured in the background, its flickering images failing to distract me. Security was everywhere. They had been in here with me before, but I had asked them to stay outside —their presence was suffocating.In the past twenty-four hours, my life has been a whirlwind. Mr Blade had called, demanding to speak to me, but Dontrell refused to hand me the phone. Then my father called—cold as ever. He boasted about his bank’s new investor, thanks to me and our ties to the Blades. As if that wasn’t enough, he reminded me I was taking too long to have a child, asking, ‘What was my problem?’ I hung up without a word. I wouldn’t let his voice poison my thoughts.Despite the chaos, Dontrell had been genuinely worried about me. He continuously asked if my father’s call or Mr Blade’s demand had upset me. "I’m fine," I lied, and he also didn’t believe me.Paranoid, more than usual. He
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I ran into her arms, breath hitching as I crushed myself against her. I buried my head in her lap. Her scent—warm. Familiar. Home.She yanked my hair. Pain flared, but I didn’t pull away. I let her. I deserved it. I buried my head in her lap, a boy again, clinging to comfort long lost.“Andrew.” Her voice wavered. “A son after my own heart.” Her grip loosened. Trembling, she wiped the tears I hadn’t noticed.My name left her lips like a ghost.My throat was thick, my voice hoarse. "Mom—"She slapped me.It didn’t hurt. What hurt was the look in her eyes.“Sixteen years.” Her voice cracked.I clenched my jaw, her words pressing down on me. “I had no choice.”Her breath shook. Her gaze was desperate. Accusing.She laughed, brittle. “That’s where you’re wrong, Andrew.” She turned away, whispering. “You always had a choice.”Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.I exhaled slowly, the words I had never been able to say finally escaping.I tensed. Years. Silence. Distance. Cr
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The house was much smaller, its wooden planks warped by time. Each breeze made the walls groan, and beyond the backyard, only dry grass clung to life. Inside, the air held the scent of aged wood—and faint traces of my father, though he was gone.We had only the large soil he once dreamed would make him a wealthy farmer and gardener.I lay beside my mother, her body trembling as she clutched my six-year-old siblings, Elijah and Elsie, who tried to comfort her in their childish ways.“Don’t cry, Mama,” Elsie said, her little voice serious. “Maybe Papa will come back.”Elijah nodded, puffing out his small chest. “Big Brother, why did God take Daddy? When will he come back?”I exhaled shakily, pressing my forehead against my mother’s shoulder. I wanted to tell them the truth, that Dad wasn’t coming back, but instead, I found myself whispering, “Heaven needed him because the workers in the sky are very busy now. God asked him to help make more clouds so kids like you could be happy. He’ll
