All Chapters of Dark Possession: Bound To The Mafia Don: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Ashley’s POV I was locking my apartment door when I heard her voice, sharp as ever, slicing through the quiet of the hallway.“Heading out already, Agent Ashley?”I turned, already expecting her.There stood Mrs. Langston, my neighbor from across the hall, wrapped in her signature pink robe with a feathered trim that had seen better days. Her hair was rolled tight in bright curlers, and in her hand was the ever-present mug that declared #1 Grandma, despite her never having mentioned any grandchildren.She leaned against her doorframe, her eyes gleaming with unspoken questions. She was harmless, mostly. But today, her prying nature rubbed me the wrong way.“Morning, Mrs. Langston.” I nodded politely. “Just heading to the office. Early day.”Her brow rose, clearly unconvinced. “Must be something important. I saw you pacing around your living room window earlier. Thought maybe you were arguing with someone.”I gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just work stress. Yo

Fernando's POV I paused by the rose hedge. My eyes locked on them almost immediately.Then it came.Alan told Michael to leave me.Every muscle in my body locked. The world stopped.I felt the anger surge like wildfire through my veins, consuming every thought. I wasn’t even aware of my movement until my feet carried me closer to them.Michael’s face drained of color when he caught sight of me. His eyes widened, a flash of guilt flitting across his expression.I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “I see. What an interesting conversation.”Michael’s breath hitched. His eyes darted between Alan and me, looking lost, helpless, like a man caught between two worlds he didn’t know how to navigate. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak, and that drove me mad.Alan, however, didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer to Michael, seemingly oblivious to the tension thickening in the air. “Fernando—”“No.” I raised a hand, cutting Michael off before he could attem

Michael’s POVAlan lay there. Still. Lifeless.And my hands—my hands were covered in his blood.They were warm, sticky and painfully real.It felt like my soul had been ripped from my body.I pressed trembling fingers against the wound—pointless, desperate, stupid. The blood pulsed between my fingers, thick and relentless.“No… No, no, no…” I whispered. “Please. Please.”His eyes were open. Staring at nothing.Gone.He was gone.And the world cracked.A scream rose in my throat but got stuck somewhere between my heart and lungs. All I could do was stare, choking on grief, my breath caught in some horrible space where time didn’t move.I felt hollow, cold, numb.Then came the heat.Rage. It bubbled up just like when my sister died—slow, burning, consuming everything.I slowly turned my head toward Fernando.He was still holding the gun, his arm relaxed like it hadn’t just destroyed a life. His expression, blank at first, turned into something worse.Satisfaction.Like a monster adm

Ashley’s POVThe elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding, but the moment I stepped into the corridor of the FBI field office, something was off. I couldn’t quite place it at first.The building sounded the same but the energy was wrong.As I moved toward my desk, I noticed the clusters of agents, heads bowed in whispered huddles. Glances flicked up as I passed. Something had happened. Something big.I dropped my bag on my chair, trying to stay calm even as unease curled up inside me. My eyes locked on Nicole and Brennan, both seated a few desks away. They were hunched close, speaking in urgent whispers, the intensity of their body language impossible to miss.“Nicole?” I called, walking over. “Brennan? What’s going on?”"You haven’t heard?" Brennan asked."Heard what?"Nicole exchanged a glance with him, then leaned closer. “The Chief… Dawson… he’s gone.”My stomach dropped. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”"Vanished," Brennan muttered, his eyes scanning the room like someone

Michael’s POVI folded another shirt and tossed it into the open suitcase on the bed. Not neatly. Not with care. Just... tossed.Packing had always felt like a transition, a promise of change, movement, maybe even something new. But not this time. This wasn’t a fresh start. It was a sentence. A return to something I didn’t want.The morning sun crept through the thin curtains, pouring long shadows across the floor of the room I had refused to call mine, even though I had lived in it for months now. Santiago’s mansion had been a reluctant refuge after Alan died. And I had spent every day since avoiding Fernando, ignoring conversations, and mourning the only person who ever truly saw me in this mansion.Outside the window, the world moved on, as if untouched by the storm inside me.I could hear them downstairs—Fernando’s men. They moved like a unit, talking and laughing as they carried boxes and luggage out to the black SUVs parked in the courtyard. They were Fernando’s things.I