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Chapter 123: What If He Finds Out?
Last Updated:
2025-03-17 22:16:33
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 124: When Love Burns, a King Pleads.
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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My breath caught. A figure stepped in, pistol in hand, its metal gleaming under the dim light. The door slammed shut, trapping us inside.Everything blurred, the room too dark to see anything. One second, we were tangled in each other—naked. The next—an intruder.Dontrell lunged—a blur of muscle—shielding me completely.Before I could react, he shoved me behind him, my skin pressing into his back. His body coiled, stance wide and unyielding—ready to destroy.His roar tore through the silence."Who the fuck—!" His snarl dripped with violence.It rumbled through him, shaking me to my core. I gripped his back, my pulse wild.I couldn’t see past him, but I heard someone inhale sharply—the sound of a grave mistake."Oh—shit. I didn’t realise—" A voice I knew blurted out. Andrew.I stiffened. We hadn’t spoken in days—he’d shut me out since I refused to run away with him. I tried to explain and told him I’d understand if he wanted nothing to do with me for now, but we should reconcile later
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A warm breeze brushed my skin as I sank into the pool’s lounger, back rested, wine glass in hand. The infinity pool stretched into the horizon, the moon’s silver reflection rippling across its smooth surface.The city lights flickered below, but I barely registered it. I stared at the water, thoughts too heavy to escape.The wine touched my lips again—rich, smooth—but my focus remained fractured. Luxury couldn’t chase away loneliness.Guards stood at every turn tonight, silent sentinels dressed in black, armed to the teeth, earpieces coiled around their ears like they were wired into something bigger. They were everywhere—doors, railings, even here with me. This wasn’t security. This was lockdown. It was like being in the White House, only I wasn’t the president—I was the prisoner.I sighed, tightening my robe.Dontrell was somewhere in this building. The moment we arrived, he planted a brief kiss on my forehead before disappearing with Andrew into the surveillance room on the 17th fl
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I went still.Not from the cool night air or the water sliding down my skin, trailing rivulets. No. It was Andrew’s voice—flat, cold, final."I’m leaving. Tonight."I clutched the pool’s edge. A deep, ugly weight settled in my chest, pressing against my ribs like something was trying to crawl out.The guards were gone. The night stretched empty between us, but the silence wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.Andrew’s gaze held me, unreadable—just like when he arrived. Indifferent. Cold. Distant.I swallowed, my throat tight. “Y-you’re going back — to L.A.?” My voice cracked before I could stop it. I cleared my throat, forced my shoulders straight, and tried to pull some of my usual confidence back—but my grip on it was slipping.His jaw ticked—barely. Then—“No.”The word cut through the night.I blinked, lips parting—but nothing came.Andrew shifted, weight rolling onto his heels, his posture still as sharp as before. His hands slipped into his pockets, but his forearms stayed rigid
Last Updated : 2025-03-25
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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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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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