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Mafia Politics

ผู้เขียน: Constyken
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-05-31 04:18:39

Leora hadn’t expected to be dropped into the heart of mafia politics with nothing but a borrowed gown and the echo of Rosetta’s warning still ringing in her ears.

The South Wing’s ballroom was a palace of deception. It shimmered with too much gold, the kind that whispered of old money and older grudges. Velvet curtains spilled like blood across marble floors, and overhead, a chandelier dripped crystals like icicles sharpened into daggers. The illusion of beauty was suffocating—too perfect, too intentional.

She didn’t belong here.

Her heels clicked softly as she stepped further inside, the black silk of her dress hugging her too tightly, like a second skin that didn’t fit quite right. The diamond choker at her throat sparkled brilliantly, but she could feel it—like a leash.

Leora scanned the room, heart hammering beneath her ribs. Men in tailored suits laughed without humor. Women in couture gowns smiled like snakes, their eyes calculating. Every handshake was a negotiation. Every glan
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  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Ghost’s Game

    The Moretti mansion no longer breathed.It suffocated.Every creak of the wood, every brush of wind against glass felt like a whisper of Dante’s presence. Guards no longer laughed between shifts. Even Marco—the loudest, boldest of them—kept his hand near his gun at all times, eyes shadowed with doubt.Dante had not struck in days.And that was worse than blood.Because silence was a weapon too.---Leora walked through the eastern wing with two guards trailing. She had begged Allerick for privacy, but even he knew better now.Still, no number of guards could banish the unease.Halfway down the corridor, she froze.There on the wall—a smear of red. Not paint. Blood.Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. Someone had written a single word with their fingertip, letters shaky but clear:LIAR.One of the guards swore. The other pressed his gun to the corner shadows, as if expecting Dante to step out smiling.But the corridor was empty.And that was the point.Leora whispered, “He’s not k

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Noose of Blood

    The mansion was no longer a sanctuary.Every corridor hummed with paranoia. Doors were double-locked, sentries stood two at every post, yet men still jumped at shadows, at the creak of wood, at the whisper of wind under the eaves.The enemy was no longer an army—it was a ghost, a brother who knew every crack in the Moretti armor.And the ghost was tightening the noose.---Leora felt it first at dawn.She was walking the gallery when she noticed the portraits—Moretti ancestors, men of steel and fire—defaced. Each canvas slashed open with surgical precision.And painted in the blood of some unlucky guard were three words beneath Allerick’s own portrait:“You are next.”Her scream summoned Marco, who cursed violently before dragging the canvases down.But Allerick insisted they remain.“Leave them,” he ordered, his voice like stone. “Let the men see what hunts us. Fear sharpens a blade.”Leora stared at him, trembling. “And what does it do to the heart?”He didn’t answer.---The strike

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Brothers in Ash.

    The message carved into steel had not been scrubbed away.Allerick ordered the warehouse sealed, untouched, as if the scars in the metal were an altar. Men stood guard at every door, but no one dared linger inside. The words seemed to bleed still.“Brothers share everything. Even blood.”The soldiers whispered of curses, of vendettas older than the Council itself. But when Allerick wheeled into the ruin, the whispers fell silent.He studied the grooves in the steel with a predator’s patience. His jaw flexed once, twice.Marco lingered behind him. “This wasn’t Council work.”“No,” Allerick agreed. His voice was so low it scraped like gravel. “This was family work.”The silence that followed was worse than gunfire.---Back at the estate, Leora felt the air heavy with unease. The men trained harder, barked sharper, their laughter dead. Even the walls seemed to listen.She moved like a ghost among them, binding wounds, fetching water, forcing smiles. But her thoughts gnawed her raw.Brot

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Ghost in His Blood

    The night refused to end.Smoke still clawed at the horizon, a red wound where Palermo burned, but the Moretti estate felt colder than ash. Every wall seemed to whisper, every shadow seemed to hold a face.Leora awoke from dreams of fire and found the Vessel kneeling by the window, hair tangled, eyes wide open. She hadn’t moved for hours.“What are you doing?” Leora whispered, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.The Vessel’s head turned slowly. “Listening.”“To what?”The girl pressed her palm to the glass, breath fogging it faintly. “The dead. They’re still screaming. Some of them used to be yours.”Leora’s blood chilled. She hurried forward and grasped the girl’s shoulders, shaking gently. “No more of that. Do you hear me? No more.”The Vessel blinked, and the spell broke. She sagged against Leora, lips trembling. “I didn’t mean it. It just… comes.”Leora stroked her hair, heart aching. What have they made you into?But she couldn’t ask aloud. She couldn’t admit the fear curling

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Echoes in Smoke

    The east wing still smoldered.Men dragged corpses from marble floors, their boots leaving red trails where fire hoses had failed to wash away the blood. The Moretti estate, once a fortress of glass and iron, smelled like a grave.Leora stood in the courtyard, her hands shaking as she scrubbed soot from the Vessel’s face. The girl sat on the stone steps, silent, eyes fixed on the ruined windows. Her hair clung in damp strands, her lips parted as if she might whisper—but no sound came.Leora cupped her cheeks, forcing her gaze down. “You did well,” she said softly. “You saved me.”The girl blinked. Slowly, uncertainly, she asked, “Am I allowed?”Leora’s throat tightened. She kissed her forehead. “Yes. You’re allowed.”But the words felt fragile, paper-thin against the night.---Inside, Allerick’s men worked in grim silence.Marco stood near his Don, shirt torn and arm bandaged, face pale from blood loss. “Thirty dead, Don. Twenty more wounded. Half the staff gone. The house won’t hold

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Blood on Marble

    The house groaned like a dying beast.Smoke pressed down on the gilded ceilings, fire licked across priceless tapestries, and the east wing’s grand chandelier dangled by a single chain, swinging wildly above the battlefield.Council soldiers shouted commands through their black masks, storming through the breach. Moretti guards fired back with desperate precision, the marble floors slick with blood.And then—like shadows carved from the night—they arrived.The third force.Silent. Efficient. Moving as one. Their formation was military, but too precise, too rehearsed. Their black uniforms carried no insignia.Their leader strode in front, mask peeled back just long enough to reveal a face Leora knew, a ghost dragged from the grave. But before recognition could sink its claws fully into her, the figure gave a mocking bow.“Don Moretti,” the stranger purred, voice carrying above the carnage. “It seems your war has grown… crowded.”And then—chaos doubled.---The new arrivals tore into bo

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