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

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

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

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

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

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