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Chapter 140: One. Two. Pull the Trigger.
Last Updated:
2025-04-01 02:10:54
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 141: Whispers of a Future—His to Protect.
The ground beneath me swayed like I stood on the edge of an abyss. My pulse thundered in my ears, muffling the voices around me.Mr Blade’s stare held me captive—cold, unreadable. Clayton’s gaze was no softer, sharp as a knife. Doris stood frozen, barely breathing.I was trapped.I let go of her hand, but the weight of the moment didn’t lessen.“Go on.” Mr Blade’s calm voice masked steel. “Tell her what you want to tell her. Nobody else has to hear.”I scoffed, my lips curling in defiance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”His face hardened. “Speak.” The command cracked like a whip.A presence shifted beside him. Dontrell. He had been at the burial front, yet somehow, he stood here, appearing as if from thin air.“Is there a problem here?” Dontrell asked his father. His voice was calm, but his stance bristled with power. “I heard your voice from a distance.”Mr Blade’s lips curled in displeasure. “No problem… unless your wife wants one.”Dontrell’s posture stiffened, his eyes
Last Updated : 2025-04-02The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 142: A Toast to Lies.
The grand hall glowed under golden chandeliers, its walls awash in soft pink and blue. Balloon arches swayed near the high ceilings, their colours blending in baby-friendly charm. Floral arrangements lined silk-draped tables, candlelight flickering against crystal glassware.Grilled meats, aged whisky, and cigars laced the air, mingling with laughter and clinking glasses.Dontrell pulled this off in under eight hours, yet nothing felt rushed—only extravagant. He had done the impossible. Business moguls, high-ranking mafia associates—even his impish father, smug and satisfied—were all here. Soft, slow instrumentals hummed in the background.I wasn’t surprised. Dontrell moved mountains when he wanted something, and tonight, he wanted to celebrate me carrying his child.I sat at the left back corner of the hall, away from the crowd. I had been seated at the front with the Blades, but the weight of too many eyes had pressed in on me, making me nauseous.So I slipped away to this quieter s
Last Updated : 2025-04-03The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 143: My Life on the Line.
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
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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 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 didn’t wait for Mr Blackwell’s response. My words hung in the air like poison, suffocating the space between us. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dare challenge me—not here, not now.Clayton swallowed, his eyes narrowing, but he stayed silent, looking at us.“Exactly.” I barked. “You’ll do nothing.”"Brother," Clayton said, his voice deceptively calm. “Everyone just wants to know if she’s fine.”I walked right up to him and leaned in, whispering in his ear. Only he would hear the words. My hand gripped his neck, tightening like a noose, pretending like it was just two blood brothers talking secretively. But I wasn’t just talking to him—I was choking him, tightening his neck, and he didn’t dare break; he just stood there, losing his breath.“I hope you rot in hell,” I whispered, my voice low and filled with venom.“Trying to take everything from me. My wife, my heir. All for the sake of your twisted ambition, you killed my child in the process—your own flesh and blood—just to secure
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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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I walked out of her ward, kissing her forehead one last time, as I had every day for the past week. Each step grew heavier, my body resisting, my mind drowning in frustration. The sterile smell of antiseptic reminded me where I was. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, the pain matching the ache inside.Her pale face haunted me. She lay still—too still—and I had to fight the urge to collapse beside her, begging her to wake.She should have woken by now. I'd seen men survive worse, but she wasn’t a man. She was a woman, and I was supposed to be her protector—but I failed at that.Now there she was, trapped in that damn coma, barely holding on. Her name echoed in my mind, but no amount of wishing could bring her back.Three weeks now, and I haven't heard her voice. I miss her laugh, the way her eyes light up when she talks, how she stands firm in her beliefs, the softness of her touch, and the way she makes everything seem right.The doctors said she was stable, but that wasn
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The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 177: I Can't Be Yours.
The house was eerily quiet. The walls that once echoed with laughter and whispered promises now felt like a mausoleum of all that had crumbled. The past weeks blurred into courtroom drama and hospital visits. Dontrell lay in a hospital bed, battered and broken. My father was also locked away for sins that had ensnared us all.Now I stood in our room – his room, but he wasn’t here; the kisses and sex we shared in this penthouse were now memories. The staff packed up the remnants of a carefully built life that crumbled in an instant. The drag of my luggage on the floor sounded like freedom.His staff stayed—I admired their loyalty, though it was to the wrong man.“I’ll be seeing you, Ms Blackwell,” the cook said, nodding as he pulled my frame off the wall and walked out. His words felt hollow. Was it pity—or just obligation?I took one last look at the room, knowing it was never truly mine.This was a place where I had been loved and cherished—then manipulated, beaten, and lied to.
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 176: One Month Later; Justice in Limbo.
A month had passed since the chaos—since the gun at my temple, the screams, and Dontrell's fury. The nights were restless, haunted by the feel of his grip around my throat.My dad was fine, serving his jail term— for now.I thought that night would be the last chapter. But today, the courthouse buzzed with motion. Reporters crowded the windows, flashes blinding. Security was doubled.Justice was supposed to come with a gavel slam and order, but fate had other plans.I sat in the second row, Clayton beside me, tense. We hadn’t spoken much since that day. The weight of it lingered like smoke. Two federal agents flanked us, my hands cold in my lap. My name was redacted from the record, but anyone could connect the dots. I wasn’t here out of curiosity; I was why this room was full.The judge—a sharp-eyed woman in her sixties—cleared her throat as the clerk called the case.“Superior Court of California. People vs. Dontrell Blade.”It rang like a church bell.Except there was no Dontrell
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 175: A Silent Farewell.
I was still shaking. My ragged breaths echoed in the sterile hallway, the air thick with antiseptic. My hands trembled, the pain and marks on my wrists a sharp reminder that I was tied up overnight. But no pain or sting of anxiety could compare to the uncertainty that clung to me as they rushed Dontrell through the ER doors.Clayton was by his side—almost too close, as if he could somehow will his brother to live just by being there. His jaw was clenched so tight, his teeth might crack. His eyes were haunted, desperate, masking everything beneath his stone façade. He focused on the stretcher, barely sparing me a glance, as if acknowledging me would break him. But I saw the tremors in his hands, the slight tremble in his voice as he barked orders at the hospital staff. He was cracking.His muscles taut, as if holding the world at bay.I wanted to scream, to tell him it would be okay, but the words died on my lips. I couldn’t lie. We were rushing toward something, and we didn’t know
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Pain dulled and numbed my nerves but never left. My body lay twisted, face down on the cold marble floor, wrists bruised and chained, legs shackled tight. I’d dozed off from exhaustion that swallowed time.Cold sweat clung to me—fear or fever, I couldn’t tell.BANG!The steel door slammed open like a shotgun, shaking the floor. Dontrell stormed in, boots slamming the floor like thunder. Before I looked up, he grabbed a bucket—filthy water—and splashed it on me.I choked and flailed as freezing water hit me. My scream strangled behind the gag. My head jerked back, spluttering, struggling to breathe. I writhed, eyes wild.“**WAKE UP!**” he roared.I screamed back, but it came out muffled, a pathetic wail swallowed by the gag and drowned in the room's silence.I writhed and shook violently, my soaked hair sticking to my face, every nerve in my body alert now.He yanked my hair to make me look up at him, “You connived with Clayton?” He ripped the chain from the wall with a sharp clink.“
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 173: When day breaks, I Die.
The air was thick with a foul, deathly presence. Nausea rose, choking me. I fought to hold it down, but my stomach twisted, the bitter taste rising.Blood. Fresh. Dark. Everywhere. A stark stain on the cold concrete. It pooled in the corners, a chilling testament to what had happened here. My hands flew to my mouth, holding back the bile. My feet cemented to the ground, my body paralysed by the horror before me.Ahead, a steel autopsy table gleamed under a surgical lamp. Dried blood smeared its edges. Shackles hung from the sides, the stench of bleach and decay churning my stomach.To the left—glass display cases. Not for trophies. For weapons. Lined neatly: silenced pistols, blood-crusted knives, bone saws, scalpels, and syringes half-filled with amber liquid. A blood streaked sledgehammer rested casually against the wall like it had just been used.My stomach twisted as I backed into the wall, gripping the frame to avoid falling. My hands, knees, and lips were all shaking.A body
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 172: Sex, Ashes and Evidences.
The lone lamp cast long shadows over the cabin's bare walls. The air reeked of smoke, sweat, and sex— the aftermath of what Clayton and I had just shared. My body still ached from his touch, but my mind was sharper than ever. Wrapped in one of his shirts, I sat on the bed’s edge, papers and photos scattered.We were deep in the forest, far from the city, where no one would think to look. A place where secrets could be spoken without fear of being overheard.Clayton, bare-chested, leaned against the headboard, cigarette burning as he studied our evidence. His cold, dark blue eyes mirrored my fury.I picked up a photo—blurred figures loading bodies into a container. Victims of Dontrell.“We were right,” I said, voice trembling. "Organ trafficking. Smuggling. Everything Dontrell claimed to hate—he ran them all.I lamented bitterly. "Selling kidneys, livers, and hearts on the black market like fucking cattle.""Not just adults... children, too. Smuggling them across borders for sick bas
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 171: Buried Lies and Burning Roads.
The sun beat down as we gathered at the cemetery, a sea of black filling the field. The air buzzed with murmurs and shuffling feet. Everyone wore black. The police. The people. The priest is standing by the open grave. Even I was covered head to toe in black, a light scarf tight around my hair. I didn’t want attention — just for this to be over.Doris’s casket lay before us, her photo resting on what was left of her. The news had said her body was blown apart in the explosion. I watched as the casket was lowered into the earth, soil spilling onto the lid.People kept brushing my arms as they passed, offering hollow condolences, their faces strained with pity. It was laughable if it wasn’t sickening.When it was time, I stepped forward for my eulogy. "My best friend... my light," I said steadily. "When I had nothing, Doris came through for me. When my world collapsed, she stood tall beside me. Doris was there for me on my worst days.”I paused, squeezing fake tears from my eyes.“E
