บททั้งหมดของ The Mafia Protocol: บทที่ 191 - บทที่ 200

The warehouse was drenched in shadow and silence, as if the building itself was holding its breath. Riccardo Falcone stood in the center of it all, bloodied knuckles clenching and unclenching at his sides. The light from the high windows caught the sharp angles of his face—hardened, cold, and resolute. Around him, his most trusted men stood in a wide circle, weapons loaded and eyes sharp. The tension in the room was a living, breathing thing. Camilla stood just behind him. She wasn’t the scared woman she had been when this all began. Power radiated from her like a second skin. She wore black—elegant, lethal—and the pistol at her side was more than just symbolic now. She was ready to fight, to bleed if she had to. For Riccardo. For the empire they had rebuilt from ruin. “Delgado’s dogs are moving,” Marco reported, stepping forward and sliding a tablet onto the steel table. “We intercepted chatter an hour ago. They’re planning a final strike.” “How many?” Riccardo asked, his voice l

The morning after the bloodbath at the docks, the city felt eerily silent. As though it were holding its breath, uncertain of what came next. Smoke still hung in the air like a ghost refusing to depart. But for the first time in months—maybe years—Riccardo could hear the stillness. And it didn’t feel like danger. It felt like victory. Camilla stood at the balcony of the old Falcone estate, arms folded, wind tugging her dark hair from its braid. Below, men cleaned weapons and tended to the wounded. A dozen loyal soldiers remained to protect the heart of what they had rebuilt. She didn’t feel like a queen. She felt like a survivor. “Thought I’d find you out here,” Riccardo said behind her. She didn’t turn. “I needed the air.” He stepped beside her, his face still marred with a healing bruise from the night before. “You slept for three hours. That’s a record for you.” “I couldn’t shut my eyes without seeing Marco,” she whispered. “Or Mateo. Or Angelo’s face when you handed him over

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm, deceptive glow across the Falcone estate. Peace, for all its glory, was fleeting. And Camilla knew better than to trust the quiet. She stood on the balcony outside her suite, dressed in black slacks and a silk blouse, sipping espresso as her eyes scanned the horizon. The city had returned to motion—but beneath its surface, shadows stirred. Behind her, Riccardo emerged, his shirt half-buttoned, tie slung loosely around his neck. “You didn’t sleep,” he said, not as a question but a quiet statement of fact. She didn’t deny it. “Something’s coming.” “Trouble?” “Opportunity wearing a mask.” He stepped beside her, following her gaze toward the eastern industrial district. “You think they’re regrouping?” “I don’t think,” she replied. “I know.” Downstairs, the war room was alive with tension. Enzo, Aurora, and a few trusted lieutenants were already seated. The map had been updated. Red circles marked unusual activity i

The sun rose slowly over the Falcone estate, bleeding gold through the cracked clouds. But there was no peace in the warmth. Not yet. Camilla stood in the war room, eyes fixed on the wall of screens detailing Cassian’s connections. What began as a revenge plot had revealed something far more insidious: a hidden syndicate, fractured but alive, embedded in systems far beyond Cassian Vale. He hadn’t been the head of the serpent—only a fang. Riccardo entered, dressed in black, his voice gravelled from the smoke of the night before. “The men are ready. Say the word, and we hit their holdings in Milan, Paris, and São Paulo.” Camilla didn’t turn around. “Too easy. We strike too hard now, we scare them into hiding. No. I want the heads.” Riccardo moved closer. “Then we need bait.” She finally looked at him. “We already have it.” Reza Talhoun arrived at noon, dressed like a diplomat, eyes like a warlord. He’d brought the final puzzle piece with him—a dossier compiled by Mossad detailing

The first sunrise after victory should have brought peace. Instead, it brought fire. Camilla was still in the Berlin safehouse when the message came through—encrypted, fragmented, and wrapped in a digital cloak only Aurora could peel back. The red alert flare in Aurora’s voice was unmistakable. “They hit Palermo,” Aurora whispered. “The estate… it’s gone.” Camilla’s stomach dropped. “Casualties?” “Minimal. Veronica had moved most of the household two nights ago, just in case. But the message was clear. They waited until you secured the syndicate.” Riccardo’s jaw clenched. He was already on his feet, grabbing his coat and keys. “Who?” Camilla asked. Aurora hesitated. “You won’t believe it.” Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.” “The Black Key. The splinter faction Cassian once disavowed. They’ve gone rogue. And they’ve formed an alliance—with Dagonet.” Riccardo’s expression darkened. “That bastard survived?” Aurora nodded. “Worse. He’s leading what’s left of the anti-Falcone l