All Chapters of Dark Possession: Bound To The Mafia Don: Chapter 271 - Chapter 280

846 Chapters

Things Left Unsaid

Michael’s POVThe soft buzz of conversation and the low hum of the espresso machine filled the warm air at Kafé Verse as I wiped down the wooden counter for the fifth time in ten minutes.I looked around the café, catching Ivy at the register organizing the tip jar, her long fingers brushing the coins into a neat stack. A strange sense of anticipation—or dread—hung around me like fog.The door chimed.I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. His energy always came first. A calm that was trying too hard. Like a storm beneath glass.Fernando.He stepped inside, one hand clasped tightly around Henry’s small one, the other tucked deep into the pocket of his trousers. He looked calm, but his eyes told a different story.There was a storm behind them. Something brewing.“Michael,” Fernando said, flashing me a too-quick smile, like he hoped it would be enough to pass as casual. “Hey.”I raised an eyebrow and grabbed a clean dish towel from under the counter. “Hey.”Henry pul

Blood on Concrete

Fernando’s POVA light drizzle made the streets shimmer like wet tar under the tires of my black car as it rolled to a slow halt outside the warehouse. I didn’t need to step out to know what waited inside. The air was heavy with the metallic taste of tension, the kind that clings to the skin like smoke after a gunfight.I opened the door, the scent of oil, rust, and something darker hitting me all at once. The warehouse stood like a wounded beast—silent and watchful, its broken windows and twisted steel doors a testimony of the violence that had taken place just days ago.Marlo stood waiting outside, one foot tapping anxiously against the pavement. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, shoulders hunched from the cold or the pressure—maybe both."This had better be worth it," I said, stepping out with two of my guards flanking me like shadows.Marlo’s eyes flicked to mine. “I wouldn't call you here if it wasn't.”I said nothing, just lit a cigarette an

The Fire and the Silence

Archer’s POV The glass shattered. It hit the wall like my fury had hit my chest—loud, splintering, and irreparable. I stumbled back, one hand gripping the edge of the long mahogany dining table. My legs trembled under me, weighted not just with drink, but with rage and a thick, bitter dread I couldn’t spit out. “He said no, Harold!” I bellowed, slurring slightly as I grabbed a half-empty decanter and poured more whiskey into my glass, not caring that my hand was shaking and some of it spilled onto my sleeve. “The bastard said no. He’s not going to run away with Henry. He told me to my face. Like I’m some kind of fool—like I don’t see it.” Harold stood a few feet away in his crisp dark suit, his gloved hands folded in front of him. His face, usually so composed, was tight with worry and weariness. “Sir, perhaps you’ve had enough for tonight,” he said gently, stepping forward with caution. “Your blood pressure—” “Oh, screw my blood pressure,” I snapped, laughing bitterly as I tu

Not Your Possession

Fernando’s POV (Few Moments Ago) I should’ve known something was wrong from the way Harold's voice cracked over the phone. “Fernando… You need to come. Now. Archer—he’s… losing it.” I had just gotten out of a late evening strategy meeting with my top enforcers when Harold’s call came through. At first, I rolled my eyes, thinking Harold was exaggerating again. Throwing tantrums wasn’t outside Archer's character—but I assumed this one would pass like all the rest. But Harold’s voice wasn’t theatrical. It was pleading and broken. I could practically hear the tension in his breath and the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. “Fernando, please. He’s drunk, yelling at everyone. He's spiraling. I thought you could come and talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” I didn’t say anything right away. Michael’s words from earlier that day echoed in my head like a dark gospel I hadn’t yet made peace with. Michael wasn’t the type to lie about something like this. And I knew A

Ghosts come calling

Michael’s POV The spoon clinked softly against the side of Ashley’s mug, the sound threading into the quiet hum of the dishwasher behind us. The scent of herbal tea—lemon and mint—wafted between us, gentle and oddly grounding, considering the weight of our conversation. Henry’s laughter floated from the living room. Something on the TV—probably Paw Patrol again—had him in giggle fits, and I smiled despite myself. Ashley doesn’t. She was sitting across from me at the dining room table, her arms crossed, expression tight. “I just don’t trust it,” she said finally, her voice low. “I don’t trust him.” I took a sip of my coffee—lukewarm now—and met her gaze. “You mean Fernando.” She nodded. “And this whole thing with Chief Calvin? Come on, Michael. Doesn’t that sound shady as hell to you?” I glance toward the living room, half-expecting Henry to come running in asking for juice or more popcorn. When he doesn’t, I leaned in. “What exactly are you saying?” “I’m saying he’s up

Looking Through the Glass

Fernando’s POV The sky was bleeding into navy. The final brushstrokes of twilight smeared themselves across the windows of my bedroom, and I found myself standing silently at the glass, staring out over the grounds of my estate. The security lights were already glowing softly in the distance, dotting the perimeter like watchful eyes. There was a stillness outside, but inside me, everything was quietly unraveling. I held my phone loosely in my hand, the screen dim and black before it suddenly lit up. The call connected. “Hello?” Michael’s voice came through with an obvious hesitation. I could tell he was in the kitchen of his shared apartment with Ashley because i could hear some sounds in the background. I expected him not to pick up, especially after everything that had happened between us. I forgot Henry was living there now. That had changed everything and made him pick my call. “I’m calling for Henry,” I said, stepping away from the window and toward the edge of the be

The Weight of What’s Left Unsaid

Michael’s POV Saturday mornings have always been slow in our house, but today, the quiet had weight. It wasn’t peace. It was anticipation. The kind that stirs your gut, even if you’re pretending not to notice. I was on the carpet, legs crossed, buttoning Henry’s little denim shirt while he bounced on his toes like he was holding in a full bottle of joy. He smelled like kid shampoo and clean laundry. His curls were still damp from the morning bath, wild and free like everything else about him. “You think Dad will take me to the arcade?” he asked, wide-eyed, voice vibrating with uncontainable energy. “If you ask nicely,” I said, brushing one curl out of his eyes. “No begging. You know how he is—he likes it when you ask like a ‘big boy.’ Remember?” Henry gave an exaggerated sigh, already perfecting the art of teenage drama at six. “I’ll just hint at it then. Like, ‘Wow, I sure haven’t been to the arcade in a long time.’” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Very subtle. I’m sure he’l

Dressed for Disaster

Michael’s POV I stood in front of my full-length mirror, arms crossed, lips pressed together in irritation as I stared at myself. Shirt number six—and I still hated it. "Try the black one again," Ashley said, her mouth half-full of salad as she lounged on my bed with one leg crossed over the other. "The one that hugs your arms and makes you look like a walking thirst trap." "I don’t want to look like a thirst trap," I grumbled, pulling the shirt off over my head and tossing it onto the growing pile on the chair. Ashley snorted. “Says the guy who’s about to go on a date with one of the hottest pizza delivery guys in the city.” "That’s not the point." I rifled through my closet again, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “I want to look… effortless. You know, like I just threw something on and still managed to look good.” “Well,” she stabbed another forkful of lettuce and cherry tomatoes, “you’ve thrown on eight outfits now. Pretty sure the 'effortless' part is long gone.

The Edge of Obsession

Archer’s POV I saw him. Of all the places he could’ve gone, of all the streets in this godforsaken city, he chose this dull, unimpressive, low-end restaurant. But none of that mattered. Because he was there. Michael. Standing beside another man. “Why are you here?” Michael asked, his voice carrying across the distance between us, his eyes locking with mine. “You gonna talk or just keep staring like a creep?” Creep. That word sank into me like a needle. But I stepped forward anyway, one slow step after the other until I stood just a few feet from them, the faint scent of cheap oil and overused spices from the restaurant making me sick. Nick’s eyes scanned me curiously. “Michael… who is this?” Michael exhaled sharply and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s Archer.” I didn’t bother extending a hand. Nick gave me a once-over. “Archer? As in your boss Archer?” “I don’t care what my name means to you,” I cut him off, my eyes fixed on Michael. “I didn’t come here f

Blood and Bargains

Michael’s POV It was pitch black under the hood. It felt hot, stifling and suffocating. The van bounced over a pothole and I knocked the side of my head against Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything—he hadn’t since we were put in here—but I could hear his uneven breathing through the fabric of the sack. Our wrists were tied tight behind our backs with some kind of rope. My fingers were already going numb. Sweat pooled at the base of my spine, and every breath I took tasted like old rubber and dust. “Michael?” Nick’s voice trembled. “Where are we going?” “I don’t know.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “But wherever it is, stay close to me. Don’t talk. Don’t do anything stupid.” I didn’t add that we were probably screwed. I didn’t want to scare Nick more than he already was. But I was fuming. I hadn’t even been together with Fernando in months—and somehow, here I was, hooded, bound, and kidnapped again. Because of him. Indirectly or not, Fernando had once again dragged m

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