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Chapter 243: Seeds of Sabotage
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2025-10-19 18:43:27
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Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 243: Seeds of Sabotage
The city was never asleep, and neither was Shayla Anderson. She had a vile tiny coffeehouse on the edge of downtown, her eyes darting back and forth between the door and the fellow standing in front of her at the table. He shifted awkwardly, tapping the fingers of one hand on the cup of coffee with an irritable finger, a sweat bead on his forehead for all the chill outside. "Your business trucks for him," Shayla said, a block of ice floating over her sugary voice. "You've heard what kind of goods pass through his piers. Machine guns loaded into agri-ware. Stolen stock posing as hospital supplies. And you know him." His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice, in the man's throat, "When Samuel Blackwood learns I'm talking— "He won't," Shayla cut in, her eyes on his, chin thrust forward. "You'll never get me to say my name once tonight. Information is what I'm looking for. Travel reservations, deals, pictures. Off the books, and below the radar. And for something." She slid a black envelop
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 242: The Black Ledger
Night hung outside, but Shayla Anderson did not sleep. Her desk was a war zone of papers and sheets scattered here and there, encrypted disks, burners, and an otherworldly blue glow on the LCD screen. Darkly smoking, only one desk lamp still lit, casting sharp shadows down her cheeks.Every keystroke was deliberate. Every question led her deeper into Samuel Blackwood's world of darkness.Sham sales in the form of "shipping manifests" managed gunrunning. Wire transfers in pyramids of shell corporations gulped money laundering. Imported drugs, diverted and counterfeited, exposed drug trafficking loops reaching three continents.It wasn't corruption. It was a crime kingdom.And Shayla wore its crown tonight.She compiled what she called The Black Ledger — a computerized and handwritten account of Samuel's misbehavior. Each transaction, each borrowed name, every foreign bank account, copied by hand, counted, and stored. A copy was encrypted on discs and stored in safe deposit boxes under
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 241: The Lost Fortune
Morning rent brutally. Pewter gray engulfed Blackwood house in a stifling pall that would not breathe, as if it knew what was to be rent asunder.Sam Blackwood sat at the head of his own boardroom in the east wing, black coffee to one side, iced. The accountants and advisors arrived separately, each carrying a laptop, a tablet, and stacks of paper, They arrived silently, their din subdued, wincing."Sir… there has been a complication."Samuel didn't even glance up. Fingers tapped once over impossibly highly lacquered mahogany. "Complication," he growled, low and as cold as a sword in its sheath. "Or incompetence?"Samuel's finance director, a man of seventeen years with Samuel, swallowed hard. His hands shook as he put a tablet on the desk before Samuel. A screen glowed brightly. Columns of figures marched before it. Balance sheets. Transaction accounts."Gone, sir. Aurelio account. Two hundred and fifty million. Burned, stacked, diverted… gone. No trailable end. All wires to a vacuum
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 240: Criterion:The Trap Sprung
The plot did not arrive with thunder. It arrived on a breath — gentle, calculated, hardly noticeable until it had already occupied space. They met the night, when light outside the small apartment yielded to the drizzle-gray of oncoming evening. Leon and Aurora slept: Leon heaped upon his sister in a heap of warmth, Aurora's lashes curled into delicate twists. Their small, pinched lives beat for Leya, weak and sacred. That was what she was staking on a war. Shayla spread the papers on the kitchen table like one spreads out a map while Carrington loomed in the doorway, his cheeks stubbled, his eyes streaked with the exhaustion of one who'd spent six months digging through rotten mold Under the light, ae paers gleamed — corporate reports, shell company reports, coded bank reports, bogus project proposals written in creams and steel-grays that made catastrophe look respectable. We need smoke and mirrors, not bullets," said Shayla. Her voice was tight as a string. "He loves projects. H
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 239: The Paper Trail
Three days had went by, and then the detective reappeared, No squeak at the front door, no crunch of gravel underfoot on the driveway. He emerged from behind the house the specter, his topcoat collar up, satchel heavy with secrets.Shayla and Leya sat waiting, huddled in the black parlor. There was a small fire going, its red and golden coals radiating heat to illuminate the room. Night pressed against the house outside, thick as a doorman on the words that would be spoken within.Carrington set the satchel onto the chair, unbuckling it, and drew out a pile of heavy files. The papers looked ordinary, but they were packed with peril."Samuel Blackwood's kingdom," he snarled on, "is here."Shayla crept up first, slit eyes covetous. Leya sat back, fists clenched in her lap before she reached out hesitantly to the top file.There were names, numbers, papers — but there, underneath, a map of power.Samuel's empire reached far and wide. Import-export firms, shell companies in offshore haven
Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Chapter 238: Father's Echoes
Air hung motionless, its silence thick with too much unseen to thump against its walls. All movement, the somnambulant dance of a candle on the table top, its wick rotating, zagging as a hurricane ripped downward through the shattered window. The wax oozed out in slow lumps, hardening in rigid pools — as if time itself hemorrhaged before it. Leya tensed, fists clenched over the letter. Thicker than paper, thicker than lies, it bore their father on it. Shayla sat perched above her, riding atop her sister's hand, their unspoken awareness searing. Silence stretched out before them, but within silence, memory entwined about them. --- Leya's head had whirled nine years ago. She was looking up at him once more — tall, broad-shouldered father, big presence that had engulfed the whole room at home. Cedar and ink in the far distance were what he always smelled, and his burning voice. He had summoned them to his study one evening, after his "trip." The lamp had thrown a golden shadow on the
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