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Chapter 53: Dontrell’s POV: Cold Calculations
Last Updated:
2025-01-24 22:52:03
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 54: A Deal on Shaky Ground
“It’d be in your best interest to help me out here." Carter’s voice broke the silence, his tone calm, but there was a tension underneath it—a plea he was trying to mask.I leaned back on the table, narrowing my eyes at him. "I don’t care how much you’re willing to offer," I said, my voice flat and unyielding. "If you’d done your research completely, you’d know I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, and my clients are as stable as steel. New deals? They don’t move me anymore." My words cut through the air, low and threatening.Carter shifted, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Can you at least tell me why you’ve turned down my proposal without even hearing me out?" His voice wavered slightly like he was trying to keep it steady, but I caught the crack. His eyes looked almost glassy like he might cry. **Damn. Whose goddamn baby was this? I didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch long enough for him to sweat. I studied him again, this time with cold
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I sit in the foyer, numb to the cold leather chair beneath me. My thumb brushes over my phone screen, but my mind is blank. All I can think about is her. Every time I think about her, it’s like my lungs forget how to breathe.Her face, her body, her scent—they’re all I can think about. They cloud my mind, pull me under, and I can’t escape it. Since walking in, I’ve only wanted to storm into her room, hear her voice, and feel her presence. Pathetic, but true.The day she was brought to the mansion, I should’ve told Clayton that I would be the one to take her. I would be the one to claim her as part of our usual routine—sleeping with any woman trafficked by us. But something about her innocence, the purity in her, held me back.The next morning, when Clayton briefed me, laughing about how tight her virgin body was, how her cunt gripped his rod, something inside me snapped. I almost hit him, the anger boiling over, but I stopped myself. It was normal. But in that moment, I swore to mysel
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I slammed the door in Andrew’s face, heart pounding. The cold steel of the door behind me as I leaned on it didn’t ease the heat rising in my chest. Ugh, what the hell was wrong with me? I bit my lip, frustration bubbling up. Andrew didn’t deserve this—he hadn’t done anything wrong. But it wasn’t him I was angry at. It was Dontrell.You’re in my veins, angel. The one thing I never saw coming.” His words echoed in my head, mixing emotions I couldn’t untangle. All that just for me to wake up alone with cold sheets where he should have been—disappointment slicing through me.The Post-it note on my nightstand mocked me with its bold handwriting: I know I said I’d be here when you woke up, but—business calls. Surprise when I’m back. Love you. Love you? A surprise? As if that was enough to fill the gaping void he left behind when he disappeared.For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe that was where I belonged—right there in his arms. Fucking, bathing, and sleeping like I had no past,
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The docks were quiet at this hour but bright from the lights all around. The hum of cargo ships in the distance blended with the rhythmic lapping of water against steel. I stood at the edge of the pier, puffing on a cigarette. The glow of the lighter flickered before the smoke curled into the night.I thought back to the message I’d gotten earlier this afternoon, just before I’d left the office. The goods that landed when my men texted me weren’t mine. They weren’t contraband, but they weren’t my goods either.A car rolled in, headlights cutting through the mist. As it pulled up, my men swarmed the vehicle, surrounding it, not even letting the driver step out. I stood there, watching it all unfold. My phone buzzed in my pocket.“Yes?” I spoke into the phone without taking my eyes off the scene.“Allow him in,” I said, nodding toward the gate. “Let him come.”I stayed put, letting my men handle the visitor. Within moments, the car door opened, and the stranger stepped out, walking towa
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“Oooh... fuck.” The muffled curse slipped from my lips as Andrew’s cock thrust into me from behind. My knees dug into the mattress, and the heat of his body against mine sent shivers racing down my spine. The slap of our skin, the wet, obscene sounds of his length gliding in and out of my soaked cunt, echoed through the room. Every thrust felt deliberate, calculated, and relentless—each one driving deeper, grazing the very core of me like he was trying to claim every inch. The loud music from the TV barely masked our sounds.Andrew's grip on my hips tightened like a vice, one hand sliding up to my breasts to knead them roughly. I arched my back even further, spreading my legs wider to take him deeper. Heat and recklessness overwhelmed me.I bit down on the pillow, stifling my cries as Andrew leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear. "You like being fucked like this, don’t you?" His voice was a low growl, the filthy words sending a shiver down my spine.I could barely form a thought,
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His piercing gaze froze me, his imposing frame dominating the room.“You want the truth, Dontrell?” I demanded, stepping closer.“Here it is: I’ve been lonely. Lonely because my husband, the man who swore to cherish and protect me, is barely ever here. And the one time I try to do something for myself—stretching, doing yoga, taking care of myself—you barge in, accusing me of something? It’s pathetic.” His jaw tightened, but I didn’t falter. “What exactly do you think you need to ‘handle,’ Dontrell? Because I’d love to know. Go on, tell me what your *situation* is.”I tilted my head, my tone dripping with challenge. “Am I the situation you need to ‘handle,’ Dontrell? Like one of your warehouse goods? Because that’s how you treat me—like something you own.”“Watch your tone, woman,” Dontrell warned, his voice low and steady.“Watch my tone?” I snapped, stepping closer. “How about you watch how you treat your wife? Dontrell flinched, his confidence wavering for just a moment. I smirked
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The kitchen was a masterpiece of modern opulence—marble countertops gleamed under pendant lights that hung like crystals, the metallic sheen of state-of-the-art appliances reflecting the morning light spilling through massive floor-to-ceiling windows. A center island stretched long enough to host a royal feast. But none of it fazed me. My thoughts were elsewhere.Dontrell. Last night. The file. Where had he gone? Did Andrew know? Were they together? Questions swirled relentlessly in my mind, gnawing at me, refusing to let go.I absentmindedly took a bite of the toast, but it was dry in my mouth. First simple meal in ages. Ever since I married, my mornings were filled with extravagant meals prepared by chefs determined to "fatten me up," whether here or at his father’s mansion. It was excessive, like everything else about my life now.I set the teacup down with a soft clink and reached for my purse on the counter. Pulling out my lipstick, I opened my compact powder case, its large mirro
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I scanned the document. My name is elegantly written. Below, a star circled in red on a map of the night sky.I blinked, breath catching. “You bought me a star?” I couldn’t believe it. My chest tightened with surprise.“Not just any star," Dontrell said, stepping closer, his heat enveloping me. "The brightest in the Scorpius constellation. Every night when you look up, you'll know a part of the universe is yours—and so am I." His fingers brushed my wrist gently. His words hit me like a wave, stealing my breath. It was so absurdly romantic, so painfully perfect. Overcome, I threw myself into his arms.He caught me mid-air, arms locking around me effortlessly, holding me against his chest like I belonged there. I stayed wrapped in him, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, breathing him in. My voice shook as I whispered against his skin, “I never knew a man like you was capable of loving me like this.” His hold on me tightened. “You don’t know one-tenth of what I’m capable of d
Last Updated : 2025-01-29
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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
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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
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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
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
