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Chapter 80: The D-Day. 11/11
Last Updated:
2025-02-10 21:12:09
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Cloaked in Sin and Silk
The moment the door clicked shut, the room erupted into motion.Five women descended on me like artisans working on their greatest masterpiece.Hands moved fast, practiced—pinning, brushing, tightening."Mrs. Blade, lift your chin." A firm hand angled my face, a cold swipe of contour gliding against my cheekbone."The dress is prepped—bring the gloves." Rhinestone mesh slid over my fingers, whisper-light but dazzling under the chandelier’s glow."Your hair, ma’am—sleek. Elegant. Fierce."A hand threaded through my blonde waves, twisting, pinning, securing—tight but precise. The style was flawless, the updo polished but lethal. A few deliberate loose strands framed my silver-blue eyes, softening the danger in them just enough."Shoes," I ordered. My sleek black box appeared before me. Jimmy Choo.The stoned heels glimmered as they were slipped onto my feet. My toes flexed, testing the razor-sharp stiletto points.Then—the dress.Black silk and lace molded to my body, every stitch de
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Silence thickened between us, heavy as his cologne. The limo slid through the night, its black leather seats curving around a mahogany bar stocked with whiskey. Crystal glasses sat steady despite the motion. Soft golden lights traced the ceiling, casting a sultry glow over the tinted windows and mirrored panels.I turned to him, searching his face. “Dontrell… What’s wrong?” His fingers flexed around his phone, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t look up. “Nothing.” A lie. A clean, effortless lie.I exhaled but didn’t push. Even if I asked again, his answer wouldn’t change.The limo rolled on for what felt like forever. Dontrell barely looked up from his phone, his attention locked on the screen. Every so often, he’d rub my lap, a brief reminder of his presence. “Stay close to my men tonight,” he murmured between texts.Eternity later, the driver’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve arrived, sir.”Outside, a bodyguard in a black suit slid the door open. Dontrell’s dark gaze met mine—un
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Dontrell’s grip was firm against my back as he steered me forward. Every stare in the room burned into me, a silent accusation. My heart pounded, but I kept my face unreadable. The hall stretched wide, its harsh lights and towering ceilings pressing down on me.At the banquet table, a waiter yanked out a chair, and I sank into it.Clayton occupied the first seat. I was next. Dontrell took the third. Across from us, twelve men sat in utter silence, all dressed in black, red masks covering them from the nose down, with an X carved into each of their foreheads. A cold chill slid down my spine. None of them greeted me. They only spoke in unison."Welcome, Dontrell." And then, nothing. Their eyes followed my every move, but not a single one acknowledged me.The air hung thick. I could almost hear my own breathing when a man stepped onto the platform at the front of the hall. The Raven. His voice cut through the rowdiness like a blade."Silence." He barked, and not a murmur remained."To th
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My hands fumbled over my phone, shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My fingers, slick with sweat, fought to dial Dontrell’s number.*Not connected.*No! No! That wasn’t possible. Dontrell’s phone was always connected. Always. I tried his other number. Same thing. A cold fist of dread gripped my stomach as I watched the reception bars vanish—four, three, two. My fingers became slick with sweat. Someone was messing with the signal. Trapping me. My heart slammed against my ribs. I dialed Andrew. The moment I pressed the call button, I heard movement outside—heavy footsteps, low murmurs, the crinkle of tape being torn. They were sealing the door shut. My screen lit up. Andrew’s call connected. Relief surged—until an old woman’s voice answered."Hello?"I yanked the phone away from my ear, staring at it in horror. **What the hell? I tightened my grip around my phone frustratingly.A sharp hiss slithered beneath the door. My gaze snapped down. A thin hose poked through the gap—and then
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The pulley groaned under the weight as Clayton hauled me up, his grip firm on the lever. My body dangled, lifeless, paralyzed. When I reached the window ledge, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent down, snatched a rope from the floor, and tied it tightly to the lever’s handle. A safety measure. If he let go too soon, I’d plummet right back down.Securing the knot on the lever, he pulled the rope taut in his fist and tied it to a pillar to stop the lever from dropping me all over again. Then he stepped toward the center of the window. His other arm wrapped around me, lifting me off the pulley, his grip unyielding. The moment my body hit the floor, my lungs fought for air.Clayton crouched beside me, his hands working fast. He removed the mat beneath me, untying the restraints around my waist and legs. His breath was sharp, controlled—but there was tension in his movements.His head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he studied my motionless form.“Still breathing?” His voice was low and sharp
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Beeping machines yanked me from the abyss. My eyelids felt heavy, but I pried them open. White ceiling. The sharp scent of antiseptic. Pain coiled around my limbs—hospital.I turned my neck, disoriented. A nurse sat by the window, eyes glued to her phone, brows furrowed in focus. She hadn’t noticed me awake.I flexed my fingers. They moved. No more stiffness. Swallowing hurt—my throat was dry, raw. How long had I been out?Just as I parted my lips to speak, her sharp intake of breath stopped me.“Oh my God…” She tightened her grip on the phone, eyes locked on the screen. She didn’t notice me awake.The robotic voice of a news anchor filled the room as she turned up the volume."Breaking news: The charred remains of a man identified as Elias Gregory were discovered today in an abandoned warehouse. Authorities confirmed the victim was burnt beyond recognition, but forensic analysis traced the DNA back to Gregory. He was a known associate of the prominent Blade family.The warehouse, loc
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The Blade’s 20th-anniversary party dripped with extravagance. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over designer-clad elites, their champagne flutes clinking amid hushed gossip. Laughter and camera flashes filled the air as whispered secrets passed behind velvet-gloved hands.The model walkway stretched like a runway of power, flanked by high-profile guests in gold-trimmed chairs. Models glided in towering heels, their gowns shimmering under the spotlight.I sat, front row—of course. My presence commanded attention: a high-neck silk blouse with gold embroidery, wide-legged black trousers—no slits, no exposure. Just pure class and power.I watched the models command the stage, but the weight of the day pressed down on me. Needing space, I left my front-row seat and moved to the far left corner almost at the exit of the hall—but still inside, still with a perfect view, but away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes.A waiter passed, effortlessly balancing a tray. I grabbed a glass
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Dontrell’s steady tone sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to find him striding toward us, his lips twitching in amusement.He stopped in front of me, gaze dropping to my lips. "My sexy wife." The words were smooth, teasing. He kissed me, hard and possessed, and when I reached up to wipe my lipstick off his mouth, he smirked. "Leave it."Clayton exhaled sharply, then turned to me with a smooth but sharp remark before stepping away. “I have something to discuss with my men. Catch you both later.”He left, and it was just Dontrell and me.He leaned in, voice teasing. “Did you miss me, Dove?”I rolled my eyes. “You wish.”His chuckle was low, rough. “I always get what I wish.”Ignoring him, I faced the stage. “Celine. I’ve seen her before.”His amusement vanished. “Where?”“At your workplace.” I exhaled. “Andrew told me she was nobody.”Dontrell’s grip tightened around his glass. “Andrew talks too much.”I narrowed my eyes. “So you do know her.”He drained the rest of his whisky and se
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 171: Buried Lies and Burning Roads.
The sun beat down as we gathered at the cemetery, a sea of black filling the field. The air buzzed with murmurs and shuffling feet. Everyone wore black. The police. The people. The priest is standing by the open grave. Even I was covered head to toe in black, a light scarf tight around my hair. I didn’t want attention — just for this to be over.Doris’s casket lay before us, her photo resting on what was left of her. The news had said her body was blown apart in the explosion. I watched as the casket was lowered into the earth, soil spilling onto the lid.People kept brushing my arms as they passed, offering hollow condolences, their faces strained with pity. It was laughable if it wasn’t sickening.When it was time, I stepped forward for my eulogy. "My best friend... my light," I said steadily. "When I had nothing, Doris came through for me. When my world collapsed, she stood tall beside me. Doris was there for me on my worst days.”I paused, squeezing fake tears from my eyes.“E
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(Six Days After the Explosion)The TV blared, the reporter's voice urgent and sombre."Good morning, this is Channel Nine. We begin today with breaking news: on March 5th—six days ago—panic struck the Hilton Grand Ballroom. A private anniversary party hosted by Verve Noir’s CEO, Celine Laurent, ended in unimaginable tragedy when a powerful explosion tore through the sixth floor. Celine Laurent and her close associate, socialite Doris Avery, have been confirmed dead.Eyewitnesses described scenes of chaos as fire crews fought through the wreckage late into the night. Authorities confirmed that both women's remains were found scattered amid the debris. Investigations are still ongoing, and the city mourns this devastating loss.The anchor paused, voice heavier.“Today, the charred remains of the victims have been released to their families. Celine Laurent’s burial ceremony will be announced later today. However, in Doris Avery’s case, no family has come forward. Therefore, the governmen
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The elevator dinged open, jolting me from my frantic thoughts. I was on the last floor, back at the party. The moment I stepped out, every eye turned toward me, like they’d just seen a ghost. It wasn’t my appearance—my hair was a little messy, my makeup cracked, but nothing major. It was my panicked eyes, frantic breathing, and beaded sweat. Told a different story, like I drowned in a water where I went. They stared like I'd lost my mind. But I couldn't care less.I marched straight to the table where we had been sitting earlier; Dontrell wasn’t there anymore. I grabbed a glass from a passing waiter, not caring how delicate it was. I ignored all etiquette, all class. The moment it touched my lips, I gulped it down in one go, the alcohol’s burn grounding me briefly.The guests laughed and chatted, clueless about what had just gone down upstairs. I glanced around, searching for Celine and Doris, but neither of them was in sight. Maybe Clayton’s plan had worked, and they had gone to meet
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Celine and I had been sparring for what felt like forever. Arms aching, chest burning. She moved like a trained warrior—stronger and faster. Her punches slammed heavily — overpowering me every time.I was just a rich girl with ballet training— completely out of my depth—while she looked like a soldier turned milk tart. She landed a blow, knocking me backward. But I wasn’t going to give up that easily.With a quick jump, I managed to land a blow to her chest. The impact made her stumble back, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. I used the opportunity to kick her, my heel driving into her soft spot. Celine shrieked, clutching her chest and crotch, face twisted in pain. She gasped and bent over.I sprinted toward the table, fumbling for the remote, my fingers trembling. I slammed the green button three times before the robotic voice said, ‘Door Open.’"Yes!’ I screamed, sprinting for the door… Before I touched the handle, the door slammed open from outside with brutal force. I staggere
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The bass thumped under my heels as I slipped through the hallway, my heart pounding in warning. Guests danced below while something ugly twisted above. I shouldn’t have followed her, but pain and jealousy don’t ask permission.Clayton warned me to stay low. But jealousy cuts deeper, and pain drowns reason. I saw Celine slip into another corner. She walked like she wanted to be followed. She glanced back once, just enough to bait me. Her fake confidence infuriated me enough to follow.Fifth floor. Sixth. The party noise disappeared entirely. It felt like I’d stepped into another world. With each step up, the world grew quieter. Now it was just the two of us—she leading, I hunting.She turned into a hallway and entered a door, leaving it slightly ajar. I waited—five, ten seconds.She didn’t come back out.I walked up and pushed the heavy door open without knocking. No pretending.The room was cold, too bright. No sunlight—just chandeliers spilling light over velvet drapes, marble f
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The car stopped, cameras flashing from all angles, their lenses like hungry eyes trying to pierce the tinted glass.I adjusted the slit of my dress, trembling more from rage than from concern for my appearance. My jaw tightened, teeth gritted. I hadn’t forgiven him. Not even close.Back in the penthouse, I had nearly ripped that burgundy suit off his body and set it on fire. But Dontrell didn’t flinch, didn’t even raise his voice as my fury crashed over him. He stood like a goddamn wall of storms and blood, letting me throw my tantrum.“You done?” he asked, his voice as cool as ice on fire.I blinked, stunned by his nonchalance. “Excuse me?”“You want to kill someone tonight?” he asked, calm as ever, when I threatened to end Celine. “Fine. Let me hand you the match, but why kill only her when you could burn them all out there?”I cursed, flung my purse at him, and told him I wasn’t a pawn to parade. He didn’t argue. He stepped closer, his breath fire on my skin, voice low.“I’m not
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I opened the door and stepped into the room, every nerve in my body fried. I kicked off my heels and dropped my bag. Their thud against the marble barely registered. My chest tightened, my skin prickling. Shame coiled around me, dragging the weight of my guilt.‘What have I done?’I’d let that bastard touch me.My stomach twisted as I crashed onto the bed, face up, trying to process how I went from hating him to begging him to ruin me. I used to hate everything he stood for. He was filth, a reminder of every bad decision I vowed never to repeat. And still… I spread myself on that table for him. I let him into my body like he hadn’t violated my soul.I rubbed my arms like I could erase the feel of him. The way I let it happen.I groaned, disgusted with myself, but my body didn’t care—the heat still burnt between my thighs. I tossed on the bed, arm over my eyes, trying to drown the memory.CLICK. A door creaked open, snapping me back.My heart slammed as I sprang up, adrenaline slicing
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I was pinned. His cock was inside me. Deep. Stretching. Filling. “Fuck,” I gasped, nails scraping the wall.Clayton’s hands gripped my thighs like he owned them, spreading me wider, fucking me harder. His cock slammed into me, brutal and thick, every thrust shaking my bones.“Don’t look at me like that. You know you don’t matter to me.” He growled into my ear, voice jagged with heat. “The moment I cum, I'll forget this ever happened. I’m not the type of man who stays around for aftercare sex. So don’t wait for one either.” He thrust again.I choked on a moan. “Fuck you.” He laughed.His mouth latched onto my neck, sucking hard as he drove deeper, faster. His body was fire against mine, sweat-slick between us, his abs tightening with every thrust.I was already trembling. He hadn’t even slowed.He reached down, grabbed my ass with one hand, and used it to bounce me harder onto him. My legs dangled. I couldn’t speak—only moan.“Clayton—fuck, keep going—”He heard.He shoved deeper. Th
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 163 – I still hate him.
The room was cold—or maybe it was just him. Arms folded, gaze sharp like a blade.My heart hammered, but I refused to back down.“How are you this calm? Someone just died.” His eyes locked on mine. Cold. Because he already knew.Of course, he did. Clayton didn’t just play the game—he built it, set the rules, and broke them when it suited him.I stared at him. He didn’t deny it, just watched me. But his silence said everything.“My contact told me a few hours ago. The official report says he touched a naked wire. But that’s not what happened. And we both know better. It was a hit. A clean one.”He went on, calm like he was reading a weather report.“Dontrell did it. He didn’t like that I left that cell untouched. And he’s trying to be extra careful since I’m out now. So, he tied the loose end.”My mouth went dry. “He had him killed?”Clayton nodded once. “Suffocated. With a pillow laced with carfentanil—the kind that stops your heart before you scream. Then they finished him with a w
