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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 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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 168: Under Siege.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 167: Death in High Heels.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 166: Burn, Don’t Bow.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 165: From Clayton’s Dick to Dontrell’s Bed.
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
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 164 – Say it with Your Cock — All the Way In.
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
