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Chapter 41: A Message Carved in Fire: Dontrell’s POV.
Last Updated:
2025-01-15 23:43:23
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Pain flared in my skull as I regained consciousness. The dim light above stung, and the air was thick with alcohol and smoke. My legs were tied, but my hands were free, trembling as I touched my forehead.“Ouch!” I winced at the spot where the man had struck me, the wound roughly bandaged. My heart hammered in the tense silence. Sweat beaded on my brow as the setting sun filtered weakly through a high window.The place reeked of fear. A single light above me cast long shadows. I strained to see further, but my surroundings dissolved into dimness. Suddenly, the space around me came alive with the sharp hum of fluorescent lights flickering on. I flinched as the building came into view. Panic surged through me as low, gruff voices echoed from every direction. I spun in circles, disoriented, trying to pinpoint the source, but the sounds seemed to come from everywhere.The faint rattle of chains drew my attention forward. My heart dropped as I made out seven figures kneeling on the floor
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They shoved me into the glass-walled room so hard I hit the cold, tiled floor with a sharp cry. The impact rattled from my knees to the whole of my body, but I barely registered the pain over the suffocating scent of disinfectant that clawed at my nostrils. Gasping for air, I looked up, my chest heaving as my eyes darted around the room. Heavy curtains hung over the transparent walls, concealing us from the gaze of people outside, also casting shadows that only deepened my sense of entrapment in this clinical nightmare.The doctor stood in the corner, his white coat smeared with stains that told stories I didn’t want to imagine. He was cleaning his instruments methodically, humming a haunting, detached melody. His gloved hands moved with precision, wiping blades, forceps, and syringes with clinical disinterest. He turned his head, his cold, calculating gaze locking onto mine as he approached."Don’t even think about anything funny," he said, his voice low, almost conversational. Yet t
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“Who the hell are you?” My voice shook, sharper now, fueled by fear and adrenaline. My mind raced, grasping for answers. There was something disturbingly familiar about him—his voice, his posture, even his towering presence. It rattled me more than the mask he wore or the weapon I knew he probably carried. Did I know him? Could I trust him? No. Not here.He stepped closer, and with one swift motion, I brought out the scissors, aiming them directly at him.“Stay back!” I spat, lifting the scissors higher and pointing them directly at his chest. “I’m not afraid to use this!” My fingers trembled, betraying my bravado, but I refused to lower my guard. His voice was low, mocking. “Drop the damn scissors before you hurt yourself.” He moved toward me again, deliberate and unrelenting. I mirrored his steps, my back legs brushing the edge of the bed as I kept the scissors pointed at him. “If you’re so fucking bold,” I snapped, my voice rising, “take off the mask and face me like a man, not a
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The engine of the car roared as I sped through the thick forest, the tires bumping over uneven terrain, branches scratching against the sides of the vehicle. I could barely see through the windshield; the darkness of the woods swallowed up everything around me. Andrew sat in the passenger seat, silent as always, I could see that he was dying to ask questions, but he didn’t. Not a word. I knew he wanted to know where we were headed, and what we were doing. But he was quiet.The acronym *GDL* rang in my mind. *The Godfather’s Legion*.This was no ordinary group. My father’s men—trained criminals, assassins, and deadly people from all over the world. Men who swore oaths of secrecy and loyalty to him. They fought for him, killed for him, and, if need be, they’d die for him. The GDL was for matters that couldn’t get traced back to my father. When he wanted something messy done, he’d call them in.Andrew shifted, his gun clicking as he holstered it beside him. His attention stayed on the g
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I shoved my father harder against the car, the metallic thud echoing through the air as his back hit the frame, but it didn’t satisfy the rage boiling inside me. His smirk—the same one I’d now found myself resenting—mocked me even now, a taunting reminder of how far he’d go to destroy anyone who defied “Go on, boy. Do it," he sneered, his voice calm despite the strain in his throat. "Prove you’re no different than me."My forearm pressed harder against his neck, and for a split second, I contemplated doing exactly that. But killing him now wouldn’t satisfy me—it would only make me like him. I needed him to live long enough to feel the weight of what he’d done.I released him, shoving him harder one last time. The car shook under the force, and he coughed. For a moment, I wondered how a man his age—almost seventy—still dared to meddle in all of this. He wasn’t as strong as he once was, but his cunning made up for it. “Don’t mistake this for weakness,” I growled, locking eyes with him
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The sunlight filtered through the drapes, casting a soft glow on the room. From here, the world below felt distant. The sprawling compound below was perfectly ordered, each detail screaming meticulous control—Dontrell’s control. Beyond the compound, houses stretched out like scattered chess pieces, barely visible through the morning haze. I turned, my feet brushing the foot carpet. The faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and dark—lingered in the air. My gaze caught on the nightstand, and my breath faltered. A bouquet of black roses whose velvety petals looked like midnight whispers lay there. Nestled among them were a pair of sleek black heels and a new Birkin bag. A crisp note rested nearby, his handwriting slanted and bold. I reached for it, my fingers trembling, as if the simple act of reading it could undo me. "To the angel who turned my night to chaos and beauty, I owe you not just an apology but the world. I’ll replace anything you’ve lost—even the pieces of yourself you thin
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“I don’t know what you mean.” I snapped, attempting to push past him, but he moved faster, blocking my every move. His body towered over me, his cold blue eyes piercing mine with predatory intensity.You’re avoiding me, Dove,” he growled, his voice like a blade. “Tell me what I want.”His tone rumbled like thunder, shaking me to the core, heat pooling between my legs, a maddening ache I couldn't ignore.“I…I didn’t say anything important,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady, but the tremor gave me away. His lips twitched into something darker, stepping closer, his heat suffocating. “What did you say behind my back?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, darker. “Don’t worry, Dove. I won’t bite…” He leaned in until his breath fanned against my forehead, sending direct signals to my cunt. “Not unless you beg me.” I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My lips parted, but no sound came out; a part of my brain kept reminding me that talking whi
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The room felt suffocating as I slid my fingers along her wet heat, feeling her pulse race. I kissed her hard, urgently, as the table groaned beneath us. My hands roamed her body, deliberate, unrelenting. She gasped, but I silenced her, swallowing the sound with my mouth on hers.“You’re mine tonight," I growled, stepping closer.Her breath hitched. "I don’t—""Shh." I cut her off, my fingers brushing her neck, feeling her pulse race. "Fear’s just part of it. You’ll learn to love it."She swallowed, eyes wide, but something in her gaze shifted—curiosity or something darker. I could already feel her slipping, inch by inch, into submission.Tonight, I’d break every boundary she didn’t even know existed.Her body arched as I touched her clit, her breath quickening. “I warned you what it would mean to be at my mercy," I growled, my voice rough.Her eyes widened, but I saw the shift in her."Don't fight it," I added, watching her body tremble, giving in.She didn’t speak, but her movements
Last Updated : 2025-01-22
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She didn’t understand it and maybe she didn’t need to.Because she still saw the world in soft, redeemable tones. Even after what my father did. What Dontrell did. What I did.And maybe that’s why I fought so hard to deserve her. Because someone like her doesn’t end up in a life like mine by accident. She was chosen by fate—or cursed by it. Either way, I knew I’d burn down every version of this world before I let it take her from me again.I looked at my phone. The hospital report came in.Same condition. No progress. The nurses said Dontrell hadn’t spoken since; instead, he started having seizures often and often, and yet… I still sent money. Still made sure his room had sunlight. That his sheets were clean. That the men standing outside his door reported only to me.Because he was my brother.And that still meant something.I heard her voice behind me. “Again?”God, that voice. The way she could make one word feel like a thousand. She’d seen the worst of me—every bloodstain, every b
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I watched Clayton from across the rooftop garden as the breeze rustled the edges of his open shirt. The golden sunset flared behind him, but he didn’t look up. His gaze hovered on his phone, thumb paused over the screen, like whatever he was reading had pulled him somewhere far from me.“Again?” I asked, pitching my voice to be loud enough.He looked up slowly, locking eyes with me. That same determined gaze he wore when things got hard. When his emotions ran too deep to show.“Yes,” he said, voice low, firm. “I have to do it.”I crossed the space between us, barefoot, heart steady. “But you know you don’t owe him anything.”Clayton’s lips curved, soft and sad. “He’s my brother.”My heart ached for the way he said it. Not because it was a lie, but because it was true.Five years since the trial, since the feds shattered Dontrell’s empire. Clayton hadn’t run from the damage—he stood in it. Quietly, fiercely, with no cameras watching.He bought back every property the feds didn’t bury.
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I peeled off his suit jacket slowly, my fingers trailing over the dark silk. The tag glinted on the inside of his chest—*Godfather.* A title barely a few hours old, still hot from the Circle’s overnight meeting where he had been crowned.We were supposed to be at the Victory Gala right now—celebrating his hotel expansion in partnership with my new dance company. But we couldn’t wait—his mouth claimed mine the second the car door shut and his men stepped down. Instead of champagne and niceties, we were tangled up in the back seat of his car—completely unable to keep our hands off each other.His men stood like statues—guns, suits, dead stares. No one came close.Our mouths were locked. The windows fogged as we kissed like starved souls. His lips, greedy and sweet, erased the ruthless man crowned by the ‘CIRCLE’ just hours ago.“Congratulations, Godfather Clayton,” I whispered against his lips.He chuckled, dark and low, then kissed me harder. “Thank you, my queen.”I dragged my hand
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I expected unease walking into this house again.The Blade mansion was eerily quiet, but it no longer frightened me. It had once been a fortress of fear, soaked in pain. With Mr. Blade gone, rotting in prison for even just a few months, breathing here felt a little easier.The heaviness that once clung to the estate had loosened.Clayton’s men stood like statues by his bedroom door, nodding as I walked past and went In. They didn’t question me. They didn’t need to. I belonged here once—even if only at night, in stolen moments, wearing guilt like perfume.The moment I entered, his scent hit me —musk, spice, leather. Familiar, maddening—uniquely him. My eyes scanned the room—the chair by the fireplace, the silk sheets, the broken lamp, the window chair. The whiskey decanter, heavy curtains, the bed—all the same.My chest tightened. I remembered the fortnight—when he hurt, took, and claimed me with blood.But I blinked it away.He wasn’t that man anymore—not in the end. Not lately. Clay
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The moment the car door shut, the fake smile I wore at that goddamn charity dinner melted off like wax. My jaw clenched. I sighed, the night’s weight pressing down on me.I didn’t bother acknowledging my driver. He knew better than to speak when I was like this.I exhaled sharply and rolled my neck. The suit jacket was the first thing to go, then the cufflinks—ripped off and tossed beside me. Yanked my collar open just to breathe. The air felt thick—or maybe it was just me, choking on memories.Allison.God, her name still felt like a bruise on my chest.Told myself the damn event would distract me. But it never works. Not with her.I leaned back and closed my eyes. How did I get here? From hating her with every fibre in my body… to falling so deep I couldn’t see my way out?She used to sneak out of her ex-husband’s mansion—my brother’s house. She’d arrive in designer clothes and leave wearing my scent. Every visit started with a plan—some draft to catch Dontrell, some excuse to meet—
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“Fuck, that’s tight,” Reed groaned, thrusting in, his veiny hands spreading my thighs wide.The hotel room smelt like expensive cologne, clean sheets, and sex. Our brunch date was long forgotten.“Yeah, just like that,” my moans echoed off the suite’s walls. I clawed at his back, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust deep and smooth.Classic missionary. All on display. He kissed my jaw, strokes slow but hard, bouncing me into the bed.He slapped my breasts and drove in deep, pausing as I clenched before resuming with a wild rhythm. I moaned in response, throwing my head back like I meant it, nails raking down his back. He was giving it to me well—deep strokes, rough rhythm, the kind of pounding that made the bed slam against the wall. Reed had the stamina and the moves. His sinful voice matched the kisses trailing my breasts, sucking hard as his hips slammed into me.“You feel me, baby? You feel all this dick?” He whispered, lips brushing my titties.“Uh-huh,” I lied, grinding u
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Three months ago, my name blazed across headlines like blood on silk.“Allison Blade Finalises Divorce from Mafia Kingpin Dontrell Blade.”“Mafia Wife Walks Away: Allison Blade Now Legally Single.”“From Blackmail to Freedom—Inside the Fall of a Criminal Empire’s Queen.”“Single and Free: Allison Blade Cuts Ties with Comatose Crime Lord”I didn’t need to read the articles — didn’t need to. I’d lived it.The court declared Dontrell unfit for trial—permanently incapacitated, doctors said—vegetative. Alive, but unreachable. A man who once ruled with an iron grip now lay breathless under a sterile hospital light, surrounded by machines that did his living for him.Filing for divorce should’ve felt like a betrayal. Instead, it felt sweet.The day I filed, I didn’t cry. I walked into the courthouse, signed the petition, and told the clerk I was ready to leave hell behind. Two weeks later, a judge reviewed my case. They assigned Dontrell a guardian ad litem—some lawyer who never looked me
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 178: Dontrell’s POV: They’ll All Burn.
I left my father’s house ten years ago and never looked back—even now, confined to a wheelchair, voiceless, motionless. I lived fully.My name would echo through generations— how I played my father and almost won if Celine's jealousy over my cover marriage to Allison hadn't ruined it.I left the house with nothing but a hunger for power—and I swore to claim it, whatever the cost. Father’s ways were too constricting. His empire was built on loyalty, fear, and respect, and I wanted it differently. I wanted more. I wanted total control. It wasn’t just the mansion, the power, or the empire I’d grown up with—it was the respect I was owed. I was the firstborn son, the one who was supposed to carry on his name. But instead, I was just another puppet in a game where he pulled the strings. I do all the work, and he gets all the glory. He leashed me and fed me scraps while he ruled as godfather. But I wasn’t some obedient little dog—that was Clayton. I envisioned power without him—without an
