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Chapter 86: The Dead Don’t Speak.
Last Updated:
2025-02-14 04:55:54
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 86: The Devil Wears an Italian Suit
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 holidays were in full swing—lights, music, warmth. And he was gone. Again. Work always came first. He could have stayed. He should have. Instead, I stood alone in our closet, fastening my earrings and adjusting my necklace over a green skimpy sundress that fits just right. I stared at my reflection. Perfect and polished—but I still wished he was here to tell me how extraordinary I looked.I spritzed perfume and grabbed the three sleek gift boxes I had prepared for him, and I made my way out of the room and toward the elevator.I pressed the button. The doors didn’t slide open. I tapped again. Still nothing—strange. At this time of day, I was usually the only one around. Most of the threats had been neutralised, and it had been over three weeks since the last sign of trouble. The need for constant security had eased, giving me a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time.But as the silence stretched, unease crept in.Then, the screen above the panel flickered—the elevator was c
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His hands found my hips, and he dragged me closer, legs spread, nipples pointing at him as I lay on the desk. I gasped at the hardness of his cock pressing onto my groin, my thighs squeezed instinctively; the feeling of anticipation was too much to bear."Keep those gates open," he barked, forcing them apart. His thumb found my clit, pressing just enough to send a sharp jolt through me.“Slick and red, just how I like it, he mused, circling it slowly, lazily. "I haven’t figured out if I should taste you first or just shove my cock inside and fuck you stupid."He circled his dick slowly on it, making me whimper. Then his hands took over. I couldn't think—I could barely breathe. His fingers moved faster, rubbing tight, focused circles until I arched against the table.A low moan escaped his lips as he watched me squirm. "That's my girl. Always ready to come undone for me."His fingers worked faster—relentless, merciless, not inside my cunt but on my clit and all the surroundings of my v
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The words were soft, hesitant, but they detonated inside my skull like a damn bomb. My whole body tensed beneath her, the warmth between us turning razor-sharp. Love. That word didn’t belong in my world—it didn’t belong in my chest or bloodstream. But she had just dropped it between us like it was something simple, something light.I went still. My fingers, which had been lazily tracing her back, froze against her spine."Go ahead, lie to me. Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll pretend to believe it." She blurted out. She wasn’t letting me escape this."You’ve slit throats and spilt blood for me. Don’t insult me by pretending it wasn’t love." Her eyes searched mine.I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I had waited so damn long to hear those words, but now that I had, they felt foreign. Like something I wasn’t meant to have. My father, and everyone who knew the truth of our marriage, had sworn that her loving me was impossible. Which woman on earth would love a man whose father had kidnapped h
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She looked up at me, her lips curling in that knowing smile—but she didn’t sit back on my lap. “I know you, Dontrell. You’re not a man who lets his business slip away. But I’ll be here when you come back. I trust you.” She responded gently.“I trust you, too, Allison.” The words were dark and rough, but they were true. “I need you to understand—whatever happens, you belong to me. And that means I’ll burn anyone who dares come for you.”She met my gaze with an unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to say it,” she smiled. “I see it in everything you do.”I was still seated, my grip firm around her fingers, tracing slow circles against her palm.When I rose, I pulled her close. Her breath hitched as my body pressed against hers, the heat between us reigniting. My dick stirred, rubbing against her skin.She winked up at me before a slow, wicked smile spread across her small lips."Again?" she teased.I smirked, brushing a thumb over her hip. "You do this to me, Angel."She leaned in, he
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I gripped a bottle of Romanée-Conti 1945, my fingers tightening on it. I admired the way the bottle's curves fit comfortably in my palm and its vintage design. The scent of aged oak and bourbon mixed with the chill air of the wine cellar. Indecision gnawed at me as I wondered if I should take this vintage wine or if a bottle of whisky would do for him. Almost immediately, I heard his footsteps even before the door opened. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. I recognised him by the rhythm of his walk and the unmistakable scent of his cologne—Shia. “Has it come to this?” Andrew's voice cut through the air, the bitterness sharp. He leaned against the door frame, his arms and legs crossed; he watched me as if I were something to dissect, something difficult to understand.I didn’t turn to face him as I responded but I dropped the bottle of wine into my wooden basket gently alongside the other items in it. “Come to what, Andrew?” My voice barely carried, almost lost in the cavernous
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I left Andrew behind in the wine cellar and took the staircase straight down, emerging into the general living room of the penthouse. From there, I strode across the open foyer and exited the building, stepping onto the grand steps leading down to the car lot.The air was heavy, a strong breeze rolling through — a —a downpour was coming. It was only 4 PM, yet the sky was tinged with an ominous shade of grey.Silas was already waiting beside the bulletproof Mercedes-Maybach. The moment he spotted me, he pulled open the back door. I slid in, placing my gift basket beside me, and within seconds, he was in the driver’s seat, manoeuvring the car smoothly through the vast compound.As we neared the massive entrance gate of the compound, preparing to enter into the main road, my gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, catching sight of one of Dontrell’s cars. A deep red Rolls-Royce Phantom Guard pulled out behind us. My eyes flicked to Silas.“Where are those men going?” I asked, my voice carryi
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The sight of Clayton made my blood boil. Yet he stood there, arrogant and unbothered, like a loaded gun, his gaze mockingly daring me to snap.His voice, smooth but cold, cut through the air. “Couldn't pretend to like me even for a moment?”I barely had time to process the bite in his tone before he delivered the real blow.“For the sake of my unborn nephew. My son.”The words hit like a slap. My nails dug into my palms as I fought hard not to react in front of the crowd gathered in the hall, but he knew he was pissing me off, and he was loving it.I met his gaze, my voice sharp. “You don’t have a son here, Clayton. Don’t pretend you’re happy for your brother. We both know you wanted to be first to give your dad a grandchild.”He stepped closer, invading my space, leaning against the counter. “Yeah,” he admitted, his smirk infuriating. “But either way, I’m still glad. This is big news for my family. Aside from having an heir, you just helped us kill the rumours.” He tilted his head, v
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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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 139: Allison’s POV: an eye for an eye.
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. "
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
