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Chapter 120: Blood on the Screen.
Last Updated:
2025-03-15 22:23:55
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 121: A Brother’s Wrath, A Killer’s Laugh.
The door slammed into the wall with a resounding thud.Clayton and I didn’t flinch. We knew who it was. But the look on Dontrell’s face twisted my stomach—I’d never seen him like this. His fury was untamed. Deadly. My relief at seeing him lasted only a second before fear clawed its way back.His heavy footsteps pounded like the warning drum of a storm about to break. Dontrell loomed into the room. His chest heaved, knuckles bone white with rage.His gaze fell on me, and then it went back to Clayton."You have three seconds to explain." He growled, like a lion ready to tear down everything in his path.I didn’t understand. What was he saying?Clayton didn’t lower the pocket knife in his grip. He held it steady like a predator, waiting.“Clayton—" My voice shook. "What did you do?"His cold eyes cut to me. "None of your business, bitch."Dontrell moved.It was like a lightning strike. One second he was in front of me—the next, he lunged. His fist slammed into Clayton’s jaw, knocking him
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“You piece of shit!” Dontrell’s voice was raw and deadly.A roar ripped from him as he launched a blow, then another, his fists colliding with Clayton’s face. Blood smeared his knuckles, but Clayton didn’t fight back. He just laughed maniacally, even as blood dripped from his mouth.Dontrell’s final punch cracked against Clayton’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. Still, he laughed—a madman revelling in chaos.When Dontrell finally stopped, panting, Clayton wiped his lip.“She was weak,” he said simply. “And weakness gets eliminated.”“You scoundrel,” I spat, shaking in my seat. “She was your sister.”Clayton only blinked. “So?”My world shattered.I could barely breathe. I had seen cruelty before, but nothing matched the cold, calculated violence in Clayton’s eyes. He followed orders without hesitation—terrifyingly efficient. My chest tightened at the thought: if fate had led me to him instead of Dontrell, I’d have been destroyed. Marrying Dontrell hadn’t just saved me—it had spared m
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"I could take my time, fuck you slow and sweet," I rasped, thrusting deep into her from behind. "But we both know you don’t want that."Her curves, the way she arched—spine taut like a drawn bow—made for this.I held her still, stretching her to take every inch as I drove in harder. My fingers dug into soft flesh, forcing her to stay still as I drove in again, harder this time, stretching her to fit every inch of me. The sharp slap of skin slapped against the skin, mingling with the waves crashing below the building."You love being used like this, don’t you?" My voice was guttural and filled with hunger. "Bent over, helpless, taking everything I give you.”Allison moaned, bracing against the white couch as her back arched. The golden hour light spilling through the glass doors kissed her sweat-slicked skin, highlighting every trembling inch of her. I couldn’t stop staring.I trailed a hand down her spine, pressing between her shoulders until she bent, her ass curving into a perfect h
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I held her hand. For a moment, I swore she’d say yes. Her lips parted, breath unsteady—just enough to make me believe.Then she pulled away, turning my world to ice.“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice was gentle—one last kindness before the kill. “I can’t go with you, Andrew.”I shifted closer. “You can—”“No.” Her voice cracked like thunder. “I can’t.”She sucked in a breath, her fingers twitching, but I didn’t let go.My pulse pounded like a war drum. I let out a slow breath, my voice dropping low.“Tell me you don’t feel it,” I whispered, gripping her tighter. “Tell me you wouldn’t want it. Just once.”Her burning gaze met mine. I knew—Dontrell was the reason.But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.“You’re lying,” I murmured, steady. “If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have come to me tonight. You wouldn’t be looking at me like that.” My pulse pounded as I leaned in. “We belong somewhere else, away from all of this. You know that.”Her jaw clenched. “Andrew—”“No one will find us,” I
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The yacht rocked, the Pacific stretching endlessly. Midnight in Fiji, yet the sky gleamed. Lights glinted off the polished deck, reflecting in the waves. Seated at the yacht’s highest point, I took in the empty ocean. The air reeked of salt and wealth—the kind men like me controlled, unseen, and unstoppable.My phone buzzed in my palm. Fang.I brought it to my ear without a greeting. "I told you—I’m not coming home."Fang let out a sigh on the other end. "Clayton won’t stop calling, boss. He’s blowing up docks looking for you.""He won’t find me," I said. "And if he keeps sending my father’s men to my ports to stalk me, I’ll start sending them back in body bags."Silence. Fang knew I wasn’t bluffing."He won’t stop. Neither will your father. His men prowl the docks like strays, sniffing for your yacht.” Fang’s irritation mirrored my own.I let the silence stretch, staring into the horizon. When I finally spoke, my voice was steel. “Next time my father’s men lurk, shoot them. Send me a
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The air turned heavy with silence. My men stood rigid, guns up, but I stayed still. Back straight, I let the moment sink in. Across from me, Rocco’s men mirrored mine, fingers tense on triggers.Silence. Weapons gripped. Tension, a brewing storm.I eyed Rocco, voice honed to a deadly point. “That’s the game you want to play? You won’t like how I end it."He raised his hands. "A mistake. Bad count, maybe."I snarled. "A miscalculation?" My tone was calm, but the weight of the threat was clear. “You don’t seem like a guy who miscounts."Rocco paused, then nodded at Bruno. Another briefcase hit the table, snapping open—more bricks."Relax, Blade. Just a mix-up. My men likely switched briefcases. Another of my allies arrives in a few days, and the boxes must've been mislabeled.""I narrowed my eyes. 'I’m not your ally. And at this rate, this might be our first and last deal.”Rocco forced a smile. “No need for that, Don.”Axel checked the briefcase, locked it, and nodded. That was all the
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Sweat and sex clung to the air. My skin burned where Dontrell had taken me, the echo of his grip lingering on my flesh. He was close—seconds away from spilling into me—when I ripped myself away, leaving him throbbing, aching. I didn’t look back—I walked to the pole.The red glow cast my shadow as I gripped the cold steel. My slick skin pressed to the metal as I arched, dragging my body along it.A growl ripped through the air. I twisted my head just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye. Dontrell sat where I left him—tense, hard. His chest heaved as he stroked himself, slow, controlled.His stare burned me.I wrapped my leg around the pole, stretching it open, letting him see the wet, swollen heat between my thighs. I slid down, landing on the cool floor and spreading my lap, my muscles aching from two days of this. We’d fucked endlessly—night into day, and even now, when we be packing, we were still caught in this cycle of obsession, like a whore and her most desperate
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The pole room buzzed with thick tension, anticipation humming between us. His deep, dark voice cut through the silence once more.“Get down. Face up. Stay quiet—unless need be, or it’s in your mouth,” he barked, fingers tracing my jaw, then my throat. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”Thank the stars this was all he demanded. Hell, he had wrung me dry, left me trembling, wrecked in ways I didn’t know were possible. I’d come too many times to handle more. My thighs trembled, the aftermath pulsing between them. I was spent. But him? He stood—unsatisfied, in control.So I dropped, knees weak against the cool floor. The pole gleamed beside us, forgotten. My focus was on him.From here, he loomed—broad shoulders, dark gaze. Holy shit.His cock stood like he hadn’t had any action in months; how? Veins pulsed under stretched skin, thick, heavy—a beast. Nine inches of raw power, light at the tip, arousal gleaming like a warning—dangerous.I darted out my tongue—teasing. Heat. Salt. Then I took h
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The grand hall glowed under golden chandeliers, its walls awash in soft pink and blue. Balloon arches swayed near the high ceilings, their colours blending in baby-friendly charm. Floral arrangements lined silk-draped tables, candlelight flickering against crystal glassware.Grilled meats, aged whisky, and cigars laced the air, mingling with laughter and clinking glasses.Dontrell pulled this off in under eight hours, yet nothing felt rushed—only extravagant. He had done the impossible. Business moguls, high-ranking mafia associates—even his impish father, smug and satisfied—were all here. Soft, slow instrumentals hummed in the background.I wasn’t surprised. Dontrell moved mountains when he wanted something, and tonight, he wanted to celebrate me carrying his child.I sat at the left back corner of the hall, away from the crowd. I had been seated at the front with the Blades, but the weight of too many eyes had pressed in on me, making me nauseous.So I slipped away to this quieter s
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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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 140: One. Two. Pull the Trigger.
Rocco’s entire body shook. "What?"His eyes darted between his dying son and Dontrell’s cold, unyielding gaze. The room held its breath. A father’s impossible choice—yet here he was. His son twitched, drowning in his blood. No saving him. No stopping this. Mr Blade didn’t blink. The walls closed in.Dontrell’s voice was merciless. “She’s locked in a container on my dock. If I have to pull the trigger, I’ll have my men drop her in the ocean —ALIVE.”Rocco’s grip wavered as he took the gun. His fingers trembled, nearly dropping it.Mr Blade stepped toward Rocco, gripping his cane. He pulled off the rubber tip at the bottom—revealing a sharp blade. With a brutal thrust, he stabbed Rocco’s foot.Rocco screamed.Mr Blade twisted the blade deeper. "I pull it out; it goes in your back next. Stop wasting my time."Rocco sobbed.Dontrell’s voice cut through, counting. "One. Two—"Rocco murmured to his son, “I’m sorry.”He pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through his son's forehead, blood
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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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Tires screeched on the rough pavement as I swerved, forcing the car to its limits. Dust choked the air as I sped toward the warehouse. The engine roared—a battle cry."Hold on!" I barked, gripping the wheel. My heart pounded with the engine's growl.Clayton and Dontrell braced behind me, jaws tight, fingers twitching on their guns. The eight men left in their convoy followed closely behind us. No turning back now.I pushed harder. VRRROOOMMM—swerved past a wrecked truck.The warehouse loomed, rusted doors towering like hell’s gates. I hit the brakes. Tires screamed as the car skidded into position.The moment I cut the engine, the doors flew open."Move! Move! Move!" I bellowed, shoving my door open.Everyone jumped out, weapons drawn. The air was thick with tension, the promise of war looming over us like a storm ready to break."Where the hell are our troops?" I barked at Dontell. “We need the damn backup now!" I stepped out, both guns in hand.He barely looked up from his phone. "
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 137: Andrew’s pov: Blood.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 136: Allison pov - Twisted Fate.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 135: Pulled Back.
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
