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หน้าหลัก / Mafia / The Devil's Debt / Chapter Twenty-Three – Fractures in the Light

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Chapter Twenty-Three – Fractures in the Light

ผู้เขียน: Tope
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-08-29 00:57:05

Her knees shook, but Marek’s arm around her steadied her.

They had made it home.

For now.

And tomorrow waited.

The base unfolded around them in a blur of shouts, running boots, and floodlights snapping off one by one in the dawn. Soldiers moved in like a tide, guiding them away from the transport craft as medics and officers spilled onto the tarmac. The airstrip reeked of fuel and scorched metal, but beneath it lingered something achingly familiar—wet soil, cut grass, the earthy breath of home.

Ayla wanted to collapse into it, let the ground swallow her whole. But she forced herself to keep walking, even as every nerve in her body begged for rest. Marek’s weight pressed against her shoulder, heavier than before. He leaned into her just enough to remind her of his injuries, but not enough to falter.

He never faltered.

That was Marek.

And yet, as they approached the waiting line of officers, she felt a faint pulse of unease stir inside her chest.

“Lieutenant Ayla.” A commander
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  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Fifty-Four – Blood at the Gates

    The next morning came too fast. Ayla woke to the sharp silence of a city that held its breath before the storm. The first light spilled weakly through the armored glass, painting the walls of Penthouse Seven in pale gold. For a fleeting moment, she could almost pretend the night before had been real—just them, laughter muffled in sheets, warmth instead of war. But then she saw Lucian by the window, already dressed, already armed, his shoulders taut as steel. He didn’t look back at her. He didn’t need to. The tension in his body told her everything. “They’re coming, aren’t they?” Ayla’s voice was barely a whisper. Lucian finally turned. His expression was a mask of iron. “Serrano won’t wait another day. Neither will Marek. They’ve both decided to bleed us now.” By the time Marco burst into the suite, his shirt streaked with gun oil, the alarms had already buzzed across their hidden comms. Serrano’s convoy had been sighted—armored SUVs rolling through the streets like wolves in for

  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Fifty-Three – The Second Fortress

    Lucian never believed in one plan. A single move was a weakness, a cage for the arrogant. Leaders who trusted one strategy died choking on their own certainty. That was why he was still standing where others had fallen—why the city still whispered his name with equal parts fear and reverence. When Marco’s voice came through the radio, dripping with rage about Marek’s decoy, Lucian’s mind had already leapt three moves ahead. The safehouse wasn’t safe anymore. Serrano’s men would come in waves, hungry, blinded by Marek’s whisper. And Marek himself? He wouldn’t wait. He’d want blood tonight. Lucian leaned over the map, his voice iron. “We don’t defend this ground.” Marco looked up sharply, sweat cutting through the grime on his brow. “Boss—this place is fortified. We can hold them off.” Lucian’s gaze cut through him, cool and merciless. “Hold them off? For what? To die in a cage Marek built for us? No. We let them come. We let them waste their teeth here while we vanish. Ayla, Marco

  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Fifty-Two – The Enemy’s Gate

    Serrano’s tower rose like a jagged fang against the burning horizon. From its glass ribs, the whole of his fractured empire could be seen—the warehouses at Pier 9 reduced to charred skeletons, the veins of his trade blackened and bleeding smoke into the sky. His pride writhed with every ember. His humiliation at the masquerade still clawed at him, a mask-shaped wound that never healed.The city was supposed to kneel at his feet. Instead, it smoldered at his doorstep. Every flame felt like Ayla’s laugh echoing in his skull, every column of smoke like the ghost of her defiance.But then the messenger’s words came. Ayla. The girl is yours.The fire in Serrano’s chest twisted into something darker, something hungrier. His vengeance, denied and festering for months, suddenly had flesh again. And when the convoy rolled up to the gates of his tower, he didn’t hesitate. Serrano flung them open wide.“Bring him to me,” Serrano ordered, voice low, dangerous. “Bring Marek inside.”The iron gates

  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Fifty-One – Splintered Shadows

    Night laid itself thick across the city, swallowing the rusted docks and fractured streets in black velvet. The kind of night where every shadow looked like a knife waiting to cut, where even the stars hid themselves as if unwilling to witness what the city was about to become. Elias moved like fire through the dark. His team was small, efficient—men who didn’t ask questions, only lit fuses and watched the world burn. Their boots whispered against the cracked asphalt as they fanned out across Pier 9, skeletal cranes looming overhead like rusted gallows. The salty tang of the sea clung to the air, laced with the sharp sting of gasoline. He paused, pulling a matchbook from his pocket, his teeth holding his cigarette steady as he struck a flame. The flare painted his scarred face in orange light before he tossed it down. Gasoline trails hissed alive, orange tongues racing across the ground. Within seconds, the first warehouse caught. Then another. Then another. The flames were greedy,

  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Fifty – The Rat’s Den

    Marek had never been a man who relied on faith. Not in loyalty, not in family, and certainly not in mercy. Faith was a luxury, and luxuries were for men who could afford to sleep without one eye open. Marek hadn’t known sleep like that since he was a boy. Since long before Darius plucked him from the gutter and shaped him into a blade. Since before he learned that trust was just another kind of bullet—it always found your back. As he sat in the back of the black sedan tearing through the industrial outskirts, the city’s dawn still bleeding faint red across the horizon, he knew two things with bone-deep certainty: Lucian D’Argento would not stop hunting him, and Serrano would not open his gates without payment. But Marek had prepared for this. The fool who thought he could betray Lucian and buy favor with him had already been useful. A young intel rat, pale and desperate, who had been feeding Lucian scraps of Marek’s routes, hoping to buy himself a longer life. The kind of coward w

  • The Devil's Debt    Chapter Forty-Nine – Cutting the Chains

    The taste of victory still lingered in the air.Smoke and whiskey clung to the penthouse walls, laughter echoing from men who only hours ago had stood ankle-deep in blood. Bottles were raised, voices cracked with relief, and for once, the war room resembled something dangerously close to home.The long table, once covered in maps and bloodied blueprints, was scattered now with glasses and ashtrays. Men leaned back in chairs with their boots propped up, smoke curling from cigars, the tension of weeks finally loosening from their shoulders. For the first time in too long, relief cut through the air like a fragile kind of grace.But Lucian didn’t drink.He sat in his chair at the head of the table, dark eyes watching his soldiers as though he could already see the next storm crawling over the horizon. His hand tapped once, twice against his glass, but he didn’t lift it. He wasn’t built to linger in triumph. Victory, to Lucian D’Argento, was nothing more than another rung on the ladder to

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