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Shadows in the Smoke
Last Updated:
2025-06-15 22:22:09
Latest chapter
Bride of the Mafia cripple Shattered Masks
The corridors stank of smoke, blood, and something older—something feral that clung to the walls like a memory. It wasn’t just the carnage. It was fear. Raw and unfiltered.Leora ran.Or rather, she stumbled forward, her heels cracking against the scorched marble in a rhythm that matched the ragged drumming of her heart. Her knees throbbed from a hard fall. Her palms were torn and bloodied, tiny shards of glass still embedded in the skin. Every breath was a gasp, dragging in the metallic sting of gunpowder, sweat, and burnt silk. Her lungs protested, but she kept moving.The ivory gown she had worn like armor was now a ruin—ripped, filthy, clinging to her body in wet strips of blood and soot. Her once-elegant updo had long since collapsed, dark strands of hair plastered to her sweat-slicked face. The girl who had walked into this night was gone.What was left… was something harder. Something not yet broken, but cracking at the edges.Behind her, distant gunfire spat its judgment like
Bride of the Mafia cripple The Venom Within
The glittering lights of the gala painted fractured shadows across the marble floor, each reflection sharper than the last. Beneath the cascading chandeliers—droplets of crystal frozen mid-fall—Leora moved like a blade wrapped in velvet. Her gown, a sheath of midnight blue, clung to her with liquid grace, the satin catching light like ripples on dark water. Every step was measured. Every glance deliberate. And yet, her heart thundered in her chest, wild and unrelenting.She had felt it—that flicker.That invisible ripple in the air, like the brush of cold fingers on her spine. It happened when her eyes met his across the room.Matteo.Her advisor. Her confidant. The man who once stood between her and ruin. A constant shadow with a steady voice and sharp mind. He’d known her secrets before she’d spoken them, stood at her side when no one else dared.And tonight, he looked like a stranger wearing Matteo’s skin.He was near the bar, framed by a sea of suited elites and sparkling flutes.
Bride of the Mafia cripple Shadows of Betrayal
The rain hadn’t stopped all evening. It threaded down from the night sky in relentless curtains, whispering secrets against the cracked windowpanes. Each droplet tapped like a warning—soft, steady, impossible to ignore. Outside, the city was hushed and trembling, bathed in the pallid glow of flickering street lamps that barely kept the darkness at bay. It was the kind of night that smelled of rusted iron and regret, where even the shadows seemed to breathe.Leora stood still in the middle of a forgotten backroom at the edge of the neutral zone. Far from the gilded safety of the Don’s estate. Far from polished floors and well-dressed lies. Here, dust reigned. Mold clawed at the walls. The air was heavy with the memory of old tobacco, of secrets smoked away and left to rot. One weak bulb dangled from the ceiling, sputtering now and then like it too had grown tired of pretending this place still mattered.She didn’t come here for comfort.She came here for truth.This place wasn’t just h
Bride of the Mafia cripple The Poisoned Invitation
Leora stared at the invitation, her fingers trembling though she refused to acknowledge it—even to herself. The thick cream-colored parchment felt soft, expensive, and warm beneath her grip, yet her nails dug into its edges as if trying to shred a threat she couldn’t quite name. Golden script shimmered beneath the chandelier’s glow, its elegance concealing something venomous underneath.> The Vitale Family cordially invites you to a Peace Summit—an evening of diplomacy, unity, and future collaboration.Her lips curled in disgust.Diplomacy. Unity. Collaboration.They sounded sweet—like honey left to rot.She could practically hear Carmine Vitale’s voice in her head, smooth and polished, the voice of a man who smiled as he bled you dry. He never spoke without three layers of meaning and five contingency plans. This wasn’t an invitation. It was a leash disguised in calligraphy.She turned abruptly, heels clicking like gunshots across the marble floor of Allerick’s private study. The sou
Bride of the Mafia cripple Shadows in the Smoke
The gala outside pulsed with hollow glamour — all glittering gowns, murmured toasts, and the clink of champagne flutes against crystal. It was a masquerade of power, where danger smiled behind sequined masks and every laugh came with a warning. But behind the closed door of the side room — away from chandeliers and sycophants — the illusion shattered.Inside, the air was thick. Smoke coiled in slow spirals from half-burnt cigars, mingling with the scent of aged whiskey and ambition gone sour. Shadows draped across the corners like curtains, concealing too much, revealing just enough.Leora stood still, her heels rooted to the floor though her lungs ached from the haze. Her back remained straight, even as the tension clawed at her shoulders. This wasn’t the kind of room women like her were meant to stand in — not unaccompanied, not unafraid. And yet, there she was. Defiant. Unmoving.The air practically buzzed with pressure.Across from her, Allerick sat hunched at the edge of a leathe
Bride of the Mafia cripple A Dangerous Game
The Astoria’s grand ballroom shimmered like a mirage conjured by gods—opulent, golden, and breathtakingly lethal. From the towering crystal chandeliers overhead to the glinting champagne flutes held by manicured fingers, the entire space glowed with decadent excess. Gilded mirrors covered the walls, fracturing the light into cascading shards that danced across silk gowns and velvet suits, turning every guest into a reflection of glamour and menace.It looked like a celebration. It felt like a trap.Leora Valencia stood at the ballroom’s edge, cloaked in shadow, the cool air tasting faintly of lilies, liquor, and lies. Her dress—sleek black silk with a neckline that plunged just enough to silence the room—moved like smoke around her body. Every element of her appearance was a weapon: the diamond pin gleaming at her collarbone, the blood-red tint of her lips, the measured stillness of her posture. She wasn’t just dressed for a party.She was armored for war.Eyes followed her like whisp
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