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Chapter 96: Rain, Ruin, and Redemption.
Last Updated:
2025-02-24 19:43:48
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 97: Trapped in the Lion’s Den.
The house was too quiet as I sat.Andrew had told me he would check the docks for Dontrell. I begged him not to start a fight, and he promised he wouldn’t. But now, sitting alone at home, I couldn’t help but wonder—what had they discussed? Was Dontrell really the one with the shoe? If he told Andrew the truth, would Andrew tell me?I think he would. Andrew needs me to leave, Dontrell. But the fact that he still defended Dontrell—insisting he’d never be involved with a woman like Celine—showed just how loyal he was to Dontrell before I came into the picture.Later that evening…I sat in front of my dresser, a hairdryer in hand, wearing nothing but a silk robe. My wet hair clung to my shoulders as I ran my fingers and the dryer through it. The shower had washed away the crime, but not the betrayal. That would never fade.Suddenly—I heard a slam!Someone was stomping their feet continuously outside the room. It made my pulse spike as the heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.But I d
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The room was silent except for my unsteady breaths. My wrists were pinned above my head, and Dontrell’s grip was unyielding. His body caged me in, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. His eyes burned into mine, dark and unreadable.I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath coming in shallow gasps as his dick stretched me, no foreplay, no affection, just raw and hard sex.A ragged groan left his lips as his pace grew rougher, his body demanding mine to follow. My fingers curled into my palms, my mind slipping between pain and pleasure, anger and surrender.I writhed beneath him, my legs trembling as his pace deepened. "Dontrell—please.But he didn’t heed my pleas. His cock thrust me with no pity, his moans of pleasure mixed with my grunt of pain, rough, deep, each movement hurting more than the last.I turned my face away, my breath hitching, but it angered him the more."Look at me, Dove," he commanded, his voice low, dangerous. "Don't fight me." His fingers caught my chin, turning my fa
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I looked up, my eyes burning, my mind struggling to believe him. "Stop lying," I yelled. "I'm not lying," he said, his voice lower now, almost tired. "Celine and I were over long before you came into the picture. She meant nothing to me. Just a desperate face chasing power. She thought dating me would secure her place in the mafia, but when she realised I had no interest in being the Godfather, she used her body to climb the ranks. That’s all she ever did."I swallowed hard. "Then why does she still act like she owns you?" His lips pressed into a hard line. "Because she doesn’t know how to let go." I searched his face. "So what was that scene in your office?" His expression darkened. "That wasn’t about me. Someone paid for it." A chill ran down my spine, his confession hitting me like a stone. "What?" "My father." His voice was cold. "He arranged it." I sucked in a breath. "Why?" Dontrell let out a bitter laugh. "Because that’s what he does. He turns everything into a business
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The back seat was dim, city lights flickering through the tinted windows as we moved through the streets. The driver was silent, focused—just as he should be.I barely noticed. My body still thrummed from what had happened between Dontrell and me. Even though he forced himself into me… I still wanted more. I reached out, fingers grazing his chest and then the hard length beneath his trousers. He inhaled sharply, his hand closing over mine before I could go further. His eyes burnt—dark, hungry."Hope you aren’t doing what I think you’re trying to do, dove," he murmured, voice edged with amusement.I met his gaze, bold. “Yes. I’m about to suck your cock.” No sugarcoating. No hesitation. No filter. His deep chuckle rumbled through the car.He let out a low laugh. “No.” His refusal sent heat rushing to my cheeks, both from embarrassment and frustration. He always did this—pushed and pulled. But then, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, voice dark and possessive.“You kno
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This can’t be.My hands trembled around the photograph. The entire shopping mall seemed to blur into silence, the distant hum of voices and Christmas music fading until the only sound left was my own jagged breathing.The photo in my hand was new. I knew how my mom looked when she died—late thirties. But here, she seemed older, late forties. The strangest part? A dried tear stain at the edge, right where it read, I’m alive, Ali.The woman in the photograph stared back at me.She had my eyes. My face. Older, sharper. But unmistakable. A dead woman doesn’t send letters. A dead woman doesn’t pose for pictures.And yet… I took in a sharp breath, my fingers shaking as I shoved the image back into the envelope. The box from Vivian slipped from my grip, clattering onto the shelf.I needed both hands—I needed to see the rest.Swallowing hard, I yanked out the next paper. It was roughly folded, creased like someone had carried it too long, unwilling to let it go. My pulse hammered as my fin
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The gunshots rang in my ears like church bells at a funeral—loud, final, and foreboding. My heart hammered in my chest; my body felt like I was passing out. The world went still. For a breath, a single breath, everything froze. The mob. The flashing cameras. The Christmas lights blinked in rhythmic oblivion.Screams split the air.People scattered in every direction, shoving, ducking, and running as panic swept the street. Tables overturned. Fliers flew. Someone knocked into a street vendor’s cart, sending oranges rolling onto the pavement. The chaos was immediate, suffocating.Dontrell hadn't shot the man—he’d fired into the sky. A warning. A declaration that he was a man with self-control—until he decided otherwise. The man who had charged at us stumbled back, fear cracking through his bravado like glass. His breath came in frantic bursts, his pupils blown wide with raw, primal fear. He hadn’t been hit, but he knew. The next shot wouldn’t be a warning.Dontrell never missed unless
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My hands trembled as I gripped the phone.The kitchen was cold, but sweat slicked my palms. My fingers trembled as I pressed the phone to my ear, my breath coming in shallow bursts. The house was quiet. The kind of silence that made the shadows seem bigger. Then, the voice came. Deep. Low. Controlled, slithering through the speaker.“Hold on to this like your life depends on it." I swallowed hard."I don’t need to remind you of the consequences. You should know them already. But I’ll say it again so we’re on the same page. Throughout this call, I don’t want you to respond or question me. Keep shut and listen to my instructions. It’s clear enough."My blood drained from my face, and I pressed my back against the cold kitchen counter, my body rigid.A chill crawled down my spine. My hand tightened around the phone as my knees threatened to buckle. The warning was unnecessary. I was already tense, and now—it felt like I could just go paralysed.The eerie silence between us was suffocat
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I was sitting in front of my dresser, dabbing foundation onto my face while staring into the mirror as I blended it in. My mind was already heavy, lost in thought, when my phone buzzed on the dresser against the wooden surface. I glanced down, and my hand froze mid-motion.Unknown number. If you knew me—if you had been following this story of my life—you’d know that unknown numbers never brought good news. Every time my phone rang without a name attached, it meant trouble. Big-time.I didn’t answer. I let it ring until it died.The room was silent for three seconds before it started again.My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the screen, hoping it would stop.But it didn’t.I swallowed hard and set down the beauty blender. With my left hand, I picked it up, bringing it to my ear. I barely had a chance to brace myself before a voice sliced through the line.“Hello."The way she said it—dripping with venom, taunting—made my stomach turn.Celine. I knew that voice anywhere, not b
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The car raced down the street, swerving through traffic as my driver drove like a madman following my frantic orders, fury lacing my voice.“Faster!” I yelled. “Drive like your life depends on it—because it does!”My fists clenched where they rested on my thighs. The leather seat beneath me squeaked from the force of my tension. I was a storm, ready to rip apart the sky.Tyres screeched as the car lunged forward; I didn’t care who we hit.Headlines lit up my phone screen like flames stoking my rage.{**SHOCKING TURN IN BLACKWELL MISCARRIAGE CASE—DONTRELL BLADE ARRESTS HIS BROTHER for poisoning his wife. ****Mafia Heiress in Coma After Miscarriage: Blade Brothers at War.****IS ALLISON FAKING IT? Sources Claim Miscarriage May Be a Setup****SHE’S WINNING: ALLISON Blackwell Faked Miscarriage to Pit Brothers Against Each Other.****BLACKWELL’S DAUGHTER IN COMA, The Blade’s LEGACY IN JEOPARDY.**}Liars. But the truth buried in their lies made my stomach turn—Clayton poisoned her.I shove
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The doctor’s face turned ghostly pale, his hands shaking as he stammered. “Mr Dontrel. Your wife will be fine, I swear it! Please… don’t hurt me. Let’s discuss this like gentlemen.” His fear bled through every word, a trembling mess of desperation. Panic clawed at him because I locked the door, and I could taste it, thick in the air. But none of it mattered. He wasn’t the one I was after. His terror was nothing but a distant noise I couldn’t be bothered to hear.I shot him a glare, my gaze cold and unyielding, willing him to relax, but my message was clear: don’t drop your guard beside me. I was angry, and it meant that no one was safe anymore.I turned away, gripping my phone tightly. It creaked under my fingers as the call connected on the second ring.“Beverly Hills Police Department,” came the static-filled voice on the other end. “How may I direct your call?” “There’s been an attempted murder. The victim’s in a hospital—barely alive.”“Your name, sir?” the dispatcher asked almos
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I couldn’t sit. The air in this hospital lobby was suffocating, thick with tension. Each time those damn doors opened, my heart leapt—only to settle when it wasn’t the doctor. Just nurses, passing by with forced smiles like they could pretend everything was fine.Where the hell was the doctor? Eight hours had passed since Allison was rushed in. Eight hours, and still no news.I glanced at Clayton—panic twisted his face, just like mine. His hands were stained with her blood, dried at the cuffs. He sat tense, rubbing his face over and over as if trying to scrub away his anxiety.I shook my head. It wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t stop the rage rising, my breaths growing heavier.My eyes kept darting toward him, recalling how she explained rushing into the restroom when she started bleeding and held her as her body went cold.The seconds before he reached the hospital—her head on his chest, her fingers twitching then stopping. That image burnt into me, searing into my soul. Why wasn’t I
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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
