All Chapters of Dark Possession: Bound To The Mafia Don: Chapter 351 - Chapter 360

Michael’s POV The heat of the air rose in waves, mixing with the bitter scent of exhaust fumes and old coffee spilling from somewhere near the dumpsters. I could hear the muted hum of the city just beyond the wall of Kafé Verse’s parking lot. But right here, right now, the world felt fixed into one narrow stretch of ground between me and Archer. He stood with two of his bodyguards flanking him — one on each side like they were there to keep him from stepping out of line, but I knew better. They were here to make sure I didn’t. The taller one wore mirrored sunglasses even though the sun had dipped behind thick clouds; the other kept his hands folded loosely in front of him, a show of casualness that I knew was a lie. Archer had that half-smirk he always wore when he thought he had the upper hand, his expensive coat collar pulled up against a wind that wasn’t even there. His eyes didn’t blink much but they stayed on me, sharp, waiting. And I hated that his words from earlier s

Micheal's POV Henry’s little feet slapped the polished floor before I could even take a breath. “Michael!” he shouted, his small voice echoing through the large meeting room. Before I knew it, his arms were wrapped tight around my waist, squeezing me with all the strength his tiny frame could muster. My body went rigid for half a second—caught between shock and relief—before instinct took over and I sank to my knees, crushing him against me, breathing in the scent of his soft hair. “Henry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “God, I missed you.” “I missed you too,” he mumbled into my shirt, holding on as if letting go would mean losing me again. The ache in my chest sharpened. It had only been two days since Fernando had ripped him from me on the beach, but it felt like a lifetime. Seeing Henry’s small body pressed into my arms again was both salvation and torture. From the corner of my eye, I caught Fernando. He stood near the massive mahogany desk, Marlo beside him. Fern

Michael’s POV The door slammed against my back with a sharp thud, the vibration rattling through my ribs as if the entire mansion itself had turned against me. My palms pressed instinctively to the wood, my fingers splayed wide, but it was useless—Fernando’s body caged me in place like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. His hand was firm, steady, and unrelenting on my throat—not choking, not quite painful, but just enough to remind me who held the power here. And God, did he hold it. His eyes bore into mine with the kind of intensity that stripped me naked. Those sharp eyes left nowhere for me to hide. The air between us crackled, thick with tension and the ghost of something that should have been love but had been twisted into this—obsession, heat, and hunger neither of us could name without shame. I swallowed, or tried to, but his hand made it difficult. My voice still came out low, steady, though my heart pounded against my ribs like it was desperate to escap

Ashley’s POV I always imagined I would end my day with the quiet satisfaction of peeling off my blazer, setting my badge on the kitchen counter, and letting the silence of my apartment wrap around me like a well-earned blanket. That’s all I wanted tonight—peace, nothing more complicated than the sound of Michael’s footsteps moving about in the living room, or his low voice asking if I wanted tea. But of course, the FBI doesn’t believe in quiet endings. It was nearly eight when I finally powered down my terminal at headquarters. My brain felt like wet paper, flimsy and ready to collapse. “Hey, Ashley!” I didn’t even need to look. That sing-song tone belonged to Daniel Cross, one of the new guys from my training batch. He leaned against my cubicle wall, his tie already loosened, his grin stretching wide enough to make me want to melt into the floor. “We’re heading out for drinks. You coming?” I forced a smile that I hoped looked polite. “Not tonight. I’m exhausted.” “Exha

Fernando’s POV I had already set it in my mind—there would be a dinner tonight. Not tomorrow, not some other time when schedules and moods aligned, but tonight. It didn’t matter that Henry had long eaten his supper, tucked away in his room, his school bag neatly packed by Anabelle’s careful hands for classes tomorrow. None of it mattered. Because tonight, in my mind, was already carved into permanence. Tonight, my family would sit together—Michael, Henry, and I. No more delays. But Anabelle was standing in front of me now, her face pinched into that irritatingly careful look she wore when she thought she had the right to oppose me. “Boss,” she said, her voice lowered but firm. “Henry is asleep. He’s been in bed for hours. Waking him now… it isn’t right. He needs his rest for school tomorrow.” Her words were measured, deliberate, but I heard the edge beneath them. I straightened from where I leaned against the dining table. “And you believe I don’t know what my son needs?” M