All Chapters of The Mafia Protocol: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

The air inside the converted warehouse was thick with tension as Camilla stepped into the center of the command hub. Screens blinked to life along the walls, each displaying real-time feeds of everything from global stock fluctuations to satellite surveillance. This wasn’t just another meeting. This was the launch. “We’re live,” Isadora announced, her fingers gliding across the glass console. “Our worm is in their system. They’ll trace it—because they’re meant to.” Marco stood by the weapons crate, loading a pistol with calm precision. “What happens when they realize we’re feeding them lies?” “We’re already ten moves ahead,” Camilla replied, her tone cool but razor-sharp. “By the time they find the leak, we’ll have their core access routes mapped.” Riccardo stepped beside her, his gaze scanning the data. “Three cities light up next. Amsterdam, Tel Aviv, and Dubai. Their relay networks are shifting resources. Someone’s nervous.” “Good,” Camilla said. “Let’s make them terrified.”

The morning after the estate was destroyed, Istanbul was unusually still. Not even the seagulls dared to call out as dawn spilled like pale gold across the city’s skyline. Inside the Falcone compound, Camilla stood before a wall of monitors—each displaying fragments of the data from Esmé’s drive. She hadn’t slept. Not a moment. Her fingers traced the line of code that bore her father’s digital signature, and the hollow ache in her chest pulsed like an old scar reopened. Riccardo entered, a fresh suit on his frame, but his eyes were shadowed with the same unrest that clung to her. “They’re already responding. The attack rattled them more than expected.” Camilla didn’t look away from the screen. “Because they underestimated what I’m willing to do.” He stepped beside her, lowering his voice. “You saw his name, didn’t you?” “Yes.” Her tone was brittle. “And not just once. He wasn’t dragged into the Consortium like I thought. He was one of their architects.” Riccardo’s jaw tensed. “T

The drive whirred softly as it booted into life, encrypted layers peeling away under Camilla’s watchful gaze. In the darkened war room, only the screen’s glow illuminated her face, the flickering light catching the hard lines of her jaw. Lines her father once had. The Ashes Protocol wasn’t just a key—it was a map. A coded sequence of global entry points, cyber backdoors left within financial, political, and military infrastructure systems. All designed by one man. And now possessed by his daughter. Riccardo stood just behind her, arms crossed, watching the streams of data and coordinates unfold. “This isn’t just access. This is domination.” Marco whistled low. “He could’ve ruled governments with this.” “He didn’t want power,” Camilla muttered, fingers flying across the keys. “He wanted insurance. Against Voss. Against betrayal. Against… me ever being a pawn.” The last phrase lingered in the air. Riccardo stepped closer, setting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not a pawn. Not

The Zurich suite was cloaked in calculated silence, the kind that hummed with anticipation. It wasn’t just a meeting room—it had become a war room. One wrong move, one wrong word, and the fragile truce inside could shatter. Camilla sat at the head of the obsidian table, flanked by the reluctant but present leaders of the Five Families. Every eye was on her, the woman who had defied fate, silenced enemies, and now held a steel case that could reshape the criminal underworld forever. Across from her sat Riccardo and Marco, unflinching, their loyalty silent but unwavering. The steel case lay open before them, its interior glowing faintly with the soft blue light of encrypted drives. The data within wasn’t just sensitive—it was explosive. Project Cinder, Voss’s legacy of digital and political manipulation, was now at their fingertips. But it was protected by layers of encryption only the devil himself would design. Camilla inhaled slowly. “Let’s begin.” Sera Lang, the encryption spec

Camilla didn’t let them help her up. Even with blood soaking her shoulder and pain flashing white behind her eyes, she rose on her own, like a queen surveying the battlefield. Bodies littered the entrance—some still twitching, others crumpled in unnatural silence. Smoke coiled toward the ceiling. The walls bore the scars of gunfire, a grotesque mural of survival. But they were alive. Riccardo moved to her side, his hand curling around her waist, grounding her. He said nothing about the blood. Just stood close—solid, present, brimming with unspoken rage and relief. Marco surveyed the wreckage, then gave a tight nod to the men clearing the hallway. “Secure every level. I want identification on every corpse. Strip their gear, check for trackers. If even one of them is tagged, we go underground—immediately.” “Yes, sir.” The men moved quickly, their efficiency born from years of following death’s rhythm. They knew this wasn’t over. Not really. Sera stepped forward, clutching the enc