Todos os capítulos de MISTRESS OF THE GAME: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

MARIEThe house smelled of grilled fish and roasted plantains the moment I stepped through the door. That scent—smoky, peppery, homey—hit me like a memory I hadn’t lived. Comfort food. The kind of smell that tricked you into believing the world outside hadn’t tried to ruin you.Henry sat at the wooden dining table, hunched over a chipped white plate. The food was half-finished. A small bowl of pepper sauce sat beside it, thick and red and dangerous. A cold bottle of malt stood open, droplets sweating down its brown neck like it too was weary.He looked up, eyes landing on me with a quiet tiredness. “You can serve yourself if you want some… I need some rest,” he said, voice gravelly like it had scraped against the day.“Thank you,” I murmured.Henry didn’t move right away. He stared at me like he wanted to ask something, like he was holding a question between his teeth. Then he pushed himself to his feet and reached for his plate. His joints cracked faintly. He moved like a man carryin

MARIEThe door gave way with a quiet click, revealing a space that stole my breath.I’d expected something industrial, half-done, maybe an abandoned lounge with scaffolding and tarps. But this… this was art. The hallway I stepped into had been transformed into a curated gallery. Everything about it whispered wealth instead of shouting it. Clean white walls stretched toward a vaulted ceiling supported by matte black beams. Spotlights cast soft glows onto massive abstract paintings. Some textured, some almost translucent, like they’d been painted with fog.The air was cool and sharp, laced with the scent of fresh paint, varnish, and something softer; lavender and vetiver, probably coming from the sleek black cubes tucked into the corners. The poured concrete floor gleamed like polished marble, reflecting the soft overhead light. I walked slowly, eyes scanning the space, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.Behind the glass walls, what I’d assumed was a sleek curtain turned out to

Heart racing, I suspected I had walked straight into a prison. The hallway stretched before me, long and narrow, its cold fluorescent lights flickering sporadically overhead, casting uneasy shadows on the grimy concrete walls. The air was thick, stale, and suffocating. Each breath I took felt shallow, as if the very atmosphere was trying to squeeze the air out of my lungs. My steps echoed sharply in the silence, a haunting rhythm that seemed to mock my growing dread. There was a door at the end of the hall — the only exit in sight — and no other option. I forced myself to move toward it, each step heavier than the last, my heart pounding loud enough that I was sure it would give me away.My palms were sweaty, fingers trembling despite my efforts to stay calm. I kept telling myself to breathe, to focus. But panic was rising inside me, a wild, uncontrollable beast clawing at my chest. Every nerve in my body screamed danger. Had I been followed? Was this place a trap? The thought sent a

MARIEWalk with me," he said as he stepped away from the door.My knees felt like wet cotton but I forced myself up, trying to steady the tremble in my steps. My face throbbed from where he'd struck me, and my wrists burned from the bite of the ropes they'd used to bind me earlier. My hair clung to the sides of my face, damp with sweat and blood, but I kept my chin up. Act the part, Marie. Just act the part.Victor glanced over his shoulder as we walked. "You say you want money and power, huh?"There was a strange tone in his voice, one I couldn’t place, half amusement, half threat. I swallowed hard, too scared to speak, too smart to stay silent.He led me through a thick iron barred door reinforced with a lattice of burglary proof steel. The moment we stepped through, I was hit by the scent of gun oil, sweat, and cold stone. We had entered a larger warehouse-like room, lined with wooden crates and metallic shelves.Around us, men with hardened faces straightened at the sight of him.

MARIEEven in pain and contempt for Storm, I still wanted to hear his voice. I was a bit disappointed. I had thought he would want to speak to me.I watched Dante with hollow eyes, my vision still shaky from the incident and trauma, but clear enough to read the annoyance written all over his face. His jaw was tight. His grip on the phone even tighter. When the call ended, he looked at me like I was something he stepped in.“You have cost us a lot of trouble, you know. What the fuck is wrong with you?”I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mouth felt wired shut from exhaustion, and more than that, I didn’t owe him an explanation. What would I even say? That I was searching for closure? That I needed answers? That I couldn’t bear the idea of Storm living in my head rent free, so I went out to find someone worse? It all sounded ridiculous. My body ached. My jaw throbbed. I could feel the sting of old bruises surfacing beneath my skin, each one pulsing with its own rhythm.I slumped back, letti