All Chapters of Obsession of the Mafia King: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The night had barely begun when the first whispers reached Dante’s ears. His phone buzzed against the nightstand, an urgent vibration that shattered the rare stillness in his penthouse. The amber glow of the city filtered through the tall windows, painting the room in muted gold. Beside him, she stirred in the sheets, half-asleep, murmuring something incoherent, her body instinctively searching for his warmth.Dante picked up the phone. The voice on the other end was taut, laced with fear.“Boss… the docks are gone.”For a moment, he said nothing. The words hung in the air, heavy, impossible. His grip tightened on the phone. “What did you say?”“They hit the eastern docks. Fire, explosives—everything’s destroyed. We tried to hold them back, but—” The man’s voice cracked. “It’s gone, sir. Lorenzo’s men burned it to the ground.”A silence followed, thicker than the smoke no doubt still curling into the sky from his docks. Those docks weren

The night was heavy with smoke and silence, the kind that pressed down on the lungs and made every breath feel stolen. Milan, once bustling with neon and music, now looked like a city under siege. Entire blocks were swallowed in darkness, the hum of electricity cut by sabotage, while fire smoldered from abandoned cars and shattered storefronts.Dante stood on the rooftop of one of his few remaining safehouses, his black coat flapping against the wind, eyes like shards of obsidian reflecting the distant inferno. Below, his men moved like shadows, wounded but not broken. Lorenzo’s offensive had been merciless, striking at Dante’s clubs, his casinos, his ports—everything that had once been his crown. Now the crown sat crooked, dented by betrayal, greed, and war.And yet, in that chaos, there was Amara.She stood behind him, wrapped in a cloak too large for her small frame, her face pale from exhaustion but still radiant in a way that twisted something inside

The morning after Dante’s abduction was eerily silent in the mansion. No laughter of guards exchanging jokes in the hallways, no sound of Dante’s heavy footsteps echoing with authority, no reassuring warmth of his presence. Only the thin light of dawn filtered through the tall windows, brushing the marble floors with a pale glow.Amara sat at the edge of the massive bed, her trembling hands clasped tightly together. She had not slept. Her wedding dress—now torn and bloodstained—lay discarded in the corner of the room, an ugly reminder of the chaos that had unraveled what should have been the happiest day of her life.She whispered Dante’s name as if it could summon him back. But silence answered.Her chest ached, not only with grief but with a suffocating dread. Dante was out there, in Lorenzo’s hands, and she couldn’t just sit here waiting. She remembered the look in Dante’s eyes before Lorenzo’s men dragged him away—fierce, protective, but also laced wi

The night was thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and anticipation. Amara stood in the war room, its walls plastered with maps, surveillance photos, and hastily drawn diagrams. A soft glow from the hanging lamps cast long shadows over the faces of the men gathered around her. They were Dante’s men—hardened, loyal, but uneasy about taking orders from someone who was not Dante himself.She felt their stares—half curious, half doubtful. To them, she was the beautiful woman Dante had risked too much for, the distraction who had once been little more than a pawn. But tonight, she would show them something else.“Where’s the shipment now?” she asked, her voice crisp, commanding.One of the lieutenants, Mateo, cleared his throat. “Dockyard 14. Our scouts say Valerio’s men have taken full control. They’re guarding it heavy, Queen. At least thirty men, fully armed.”Queen. The title still sat strangely on her shoulders, though some used it with sincer

The chamber doors slammed shut with a force that reverberated like thunder through the black marble walls. Amara’s chest rose and fell, ragged, every muscle still taut from the adrenaline of battle. She had ridden the wave of victory like a storm, her sword dripping with the blood of men who dared to oppose her. And now, standing here, she faced the only man who could pierce her armor—not with steel, but with a look.Dante.He stood in the center of the war council chamber, shackles discarded on the floor, his escape as improbable as it was inevitable. His clothes were torn, blood smeared on his cheek, his hair wild from the winds of the escape. Yet his eyes—those dark, consuming eyes—were the same. Burning. Searching. And now, fixed on her.For a long, aching heartbeat, neither moved.“You,” Dante growled, his voice low, hoarse from days of captivity and rage. “What have you become?”Amara didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. Her armo