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Chapter 14: Fragments of Us (Allison’s pov)
Dernière mise à jour:
2025-01-01 21:55:13
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 15: The Line Between Us
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
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-01The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 16: In the Name of Love (Dontrell's POV).
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
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-02The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 17: Point of No Return.
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
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-02The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 18: A Thin Line - Allison's POV
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
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-03The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 19: Andrew’s POV( No escape).
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
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-04The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 20: Allison’s POV(Lust and Secrets)
The door rattled again. My heart slammed against my chest, panic flooding every corner of my mind. I was still on the table, my legs dangling off the edge. Since I wore a flared gown, it was easy to slide down. My feet hit the floor silently as I crouched, reaching for my panties on the ground."Are you sure they’re in here? It seems locked,” a voice outside the door muttered, but the urgency in his tone was undeniable. "What do we do?" I whispered frantically to Clayton, my voice barely a breath."Go hide behind there first," Clayton’s voice was sharp, panic in his eyes as he gripped my wrist and pointed to a row of messy stacks. Without thinking, I ran, ducking behind them, pressing my back against the pile. My hands shook as I peeked through a gap, wondering if someone had seen me—or worse, if Dontrell had sent someone.I ducked lower, clutching the fabric of my gown. Andrew’s silhouette loomed by the door as he turned the lock, the heavy sound of it unlocking echoing. Then, the d
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-04The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 21: Under Pressure
Dontrell stood by the home bar, his broad shoulders tense, the shadows playing against his haggard form. His dark, cold eyes burned into me, filled with questions and unspoken anger. His usually pristine appearance was frayed—his shirt hung loose, untucked, and there were faint bruises visible at the edge of his collar. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and exhaustion clung to him, though it did nothing to dull the dangerous aura he exuded. “Where the hell are you coming from?” he asked, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence. I hesitated, forcing my face into a neutral expression as I tried to calm my racing heart. “I was just walking around the compound,” I said, keeping my tone even. His eyes narrowed, and he took a slow sip of his wine, as though deciding whether or not to believe me. “Walking around?” he repeated, his voice laced with suspicion. He set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. “You know you’re
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-04The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 22: Whispers of the Enemy
“Wake up,” Dontrell’s deep voice pierced through the haze of my sleep. His hand on my shoulder was firm but not rough, tapping me awake with a subtle sense of urgency.My eyes fluttered open, and I saw him. He was already dressed in a sharp black shirt tucked into tailored slacks, his tall frame towering over me. His expression was unreadable, but his dark brown eyes lingered on my face.“Good morning, my dove," he murmured, his voice warm and lingering. "You’re a sight to wake up to. Mornings don’t seem so cruel with you here."A blush crept up my cheeks at his words. “Do you ever rest? How come you’re already dressed and looking like you own the world at this hour?” I asked groggily.He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “There’s barely any rest for men like me, but one day, I’ll surprise you. We’ll take a break—just the two of us. No interruptions, no chaos.”I rolled my eyes, rubbing the sleep from them as I sat up. “I don’t see that day happening,” I said, my voice tinged with sa
Dernière mise à jour : 2025-01-05
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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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 138: Everything Faded to Black.
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. "
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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
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I stared out the jet window as Ireland’s city lights melted into the countryside’s darkness. The engine hummed, but my thoughts were louder. It had been years since I last set foot here—since my father’s death, since I left my mother and siblings behind.Her face came back to me. I remembered it like I had seen it just yesterday. Soft eyes, tired but kind. Would she recognise me? Would she even care that I was back?The wheels hit the tarmac. I exhaled. I was home.I stood outside the airport, staring at the land I swore I'd never return to—the soil that held my father’s bones, the city that spit on us when we were nothing.And now, I was back.Sixteen years. Since I left. Since I saw her.The drive from the airport to the compound was long, cutting through large cities and then to the quiet farmlands and open fields. My driver, Coleman, was silent most of the way until we finally reached the outskirts of my family's land.Ireland had changed, but its scent remained—earthy, raw, steepe
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 132: Ashes of You and Me.
Andrew’s words left a suffocating silence. His breath lingered, his whisper curling down my spine like a serpent. Water dripped down my frozen body, but inside, something writhed.“You don’t see it yet,” he murmured. “But you will.”I shivered, ice and fire colliding.“Soon, Allison…” He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You’ll become worse than Clayton, your father, and Mr Blade.” His voice darkened, rough with something deadly. “You’ll be filthy, vile and cunning. A master in manipulating.”His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—something like fear."Hell, you might be worse."The words sliced through me, sharper than any blade, cutting past flesh and bone, straight to something deeper. My heart.He shook his head. “I see it already, Allison. You’re on that treacherous path, and I—” His breath hitched. His grip tightened, then released. “I won’t be here to watch. I know the cost of this life—past, present, and future.”A sharp sob tore from me, but he looked unfazed.
