All Chapters of Mafia's Obsession: Hidden Flame : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The day bled into dusk without ceremony.The sky over Geneva turned a shade too dark too soon, like even the clouds knew what was coming. Inside the villa, everything looked the same — polished floors, tall windows, manicured stillness — but the energy had shifted. Siena felt it first. Not through sight, but instinct. The way animals sensed a storm before the first crack of thunder.Adriano hadn’t said much since the last security report.He was pacing now. Not his usual calculated stride, but short, sharp turns across the hallway outside Lucia’s room. A man rehearsing outcomes he couldn’t control.Siena sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her daughter’s hair with trembling fingers. Lucia slept deeply, worn out from medication, cheeks flushed with warmth that Siena kept telling herself was healing, not fever.But even that lie began to crack when she heard the first gunshot.It wasn’t close. Not yet. But it was real. Echoing in the distance like a starting bell.She froze.Adriano st

The snow fell in thick, slow spirals outside the frost-bitten window of the Vienna flat, painting the city in silence. The world beyond was white and muted, but inside the apartment, everything felt darker. Quieter. Still.A single light flickered in the kitchen — yellow and weak, like it had given up fighting the cold. The apartment was small, barely enough for one person. The furniture was mismatched and tired, a couch with a tear down the side, a table with a crooked leg, and curtains that didn’t quite reach the floor. The radiator hissed but gave off little warmth. The only sound that filled the air was the ticking of a wall clock… and the occasional wail of a distant siren swallowed by snow.Siena stood barefoot in the bathroom, one hand gripping the edge of the sink, the other resting lightly on her swollen belly. She wore a long grey t-shirt that hung loose over her thin frame, except where it stretched across the curve of her stomach — the only sign that life still bloomed ins

The silence was the first thing she noticed.It wasn’t peaceful — it was dense, weighted, like smoke that refused to clear. Siena opened her eyes slowly, the dim overhead light casting shadows along the concrete ceiling. The air was cold, stale, tinged with something metallic. There were no big windows, no sounds of the outside world. Just the hum of ventilation and the ghost of something burning, still clinging to her skin.She shifted slightly on the cot, the rough blanket scratching her arm. Her body ached in places she hadn’t realized could ache. Her lungs still held the ghost of smoke. Her fingers twitched before curling instinctively — and landed on warmth.Lucia.The child was curled tightly against her side, cheek resting on Siena’s chest, one tiny fist clutching the fabric of her shirt even in sleep. Her breathing was slow, steady. For now, she was okay.Siena’s heart twisted.She turned her head.Adriano.He was on the other side of the cot, barely inches away. Lying on his

The morning air was thin and sharp in the high altitudes of the Pyrenees, laced with the scent of damp stone and pine needles. A pale mist clung to the treetops, curling through the forest like something half-alive. The sky was a bruised shade of gray, just bright enough to announce the arrival of dawn.The van rumbled up the narrow gravel road, tires crunching as it crested the final turn.There it was.The house.Siena blinked slowly, exhaustion dragging her every thought, but even through her haze, she recognized the weight of the place. Not in memory — she’d never seen it before — but in presence. The stone façade rose out of the mist like it had been carved from the mountain itself. Weather-worn shutters. Ivy climbing the east wing. A tall wrought-iron gate that creaked open at their approach, as if the house had been waiting.Adriano said nothing as he pulled the van into the overgrown circular drive. He simply shifted into park and cut the engine.Silence rushed in like a wave.

Evening had settled like a velvet curtain over the mountains, muffling the world in quiet. The villa was still. No alarms. No movement outside. Just the comforting rhythm of forks clinking softly and glasses being set down.They sat at the wooden kitchen table — Siena, Adriano, and Lucia — bathed in the amber glow of the pendant lamp above. For the first time since Geneva, they were having dinner without tension threading between their shoulders.Lucia, too tired to even finish her mashed potatoes, had barely made it through the bedtime story before falling asleep in her mother’s lap. Siena had carried her gently to the couch and tucked the blanket around her little legs. Now the only sound from the child was the quiet, steady breathing of peaceful sleep.Back at the table, only two remained.Siena reached for her wine glass, fingers curling around the stem. Across from her, Adriano did the same — their hands moving in a kind of quiet synchrony. Neither of them spoke.It was a silence