All Chapters of The Mafia’s Accountant: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The rain pounded against the windows of my tiny Brooklyn apartment, a constant echo that couldn’t drown out the knot in my stomach. In front of me, piled up on the kitchen table, was a mountain of unpaid bills—a cruel mockery of my efforts to keep afloat the accounting firm I had inherited from my father. It had been a year since he died, and I still felt his absence like an invisible weight. But that night, something darker was keeping me awake.My father’s last accounts didn’t add up.Not only were there discrepancies in the numbers, but suspicious transfers, hidden accounts, names that didn’t appear on any legal record. Going over them again and again did nothing to shake the chill from my spine. I could hardly believe it. He taught me everything I know about numbers. He had a nearly poetic way of seeing them. “Math doesn’t lie, sweetheart. If something doesn’t add up, it’s because there’s a hidden truth,” he used to say. I wondered if he had forgotten his own advice.It was two in

The day at the Vallardi mansion passed in a blur, each hour a reminder of how far I was from my normal life. The server room had become my temporary prison—a maze of screens and numbers staring at me with the same intensity as the armed men in the hallways. Carla was my only company, occasionally showing up with coffee and sarcastic remarks that slightly eased the tension. But not even her humor could lift the weight I felt as I flipped through my father’s books—each page an echo of his voice, his lessons, and the secrets he never shared.My eyes ached from staring at figures for so long. These ledgers were a puzzle—but not the clean kind I used to solve with Dad at our kitchen table. These were full of cryptic notes, dates that didn’t line up, names of companies that sounded more like fronts than actual businesses. I had spent hours tracing a trail of transfers, clicking between spreadsheets and scanned documents, searching for anything that might explain why my father had gotten tan

The roar of Marco’s sports car still echoed in my ears as the city lights turned into a kaleidoscope of neon. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since the warehouse—where gunshots and Marco’s body shielding mine had ignited something I could no longer ignore. His words, “I don’t like losing what’s mine,” still burned within me, an echo that made me question whether I was furious… or something else. Now, as he drove through the streets of Manhattan, his silence weighed as heavily as his gaze, which occasionally drifted toward me—measuring, disarming.“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice shakier than I wanted. I expected him to take me back to the mansion—or worse, to my apartment, where I’d be alone with the storm of my thoughts. But Marco simply gave me that half-smile—that dangerous curve that always made my pulse race.“To celebrate,” he said, his voice low, with a hint of defiance. “We made it out alive, Sofia. That deserves a drink.”I frowned, confused.“Celebrate? After we almost

Marco’s POVThe roar of the sports car engine still echoed in my ears as I sped through New York’s empty streets, the city lights a blur that couldn’t quiet the storm in my head. Dropping Sofia off at her apartment had felt like tearing a part of myself away. That almost-kiss at her door—the way her brown eyes locked onto mine, the slight tremble in her body when I leaned in… all of it was a mistake. A mistake I couldn’t afford. Her perfume, subtle yet intoxicating, still clung to me—a reminder of how close I’d come to crossing a line I had sworn not to touch.I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. This wasn’t new. Women had always been part of the game: a quick flirtation, a night without strings, a way to release the tension of my world. With every new girl who started working for me—messengers, lawyers, accountants like Sofia—I knew how to play my cards. A few drinks, a dance, the right words, and it all ended in laughter or in my bed. It was familiar ground. A bo

The echo of heels rang through the halls of the Vallardi mansion as I returned from lunch with Carla, her words still burning in me like embers. "Marco is a predator, and you’re easy prey." Her confession about having been one of his lovers, about how he seduced and discarded women, had left a knot in my stomach. But what truly had me on edge was the discovery of the initials C.V. in the accounts. Was Carla a traitor? Or just another piece in a game I couldn’t quite understand?My head was a storm, and the last thing I needed was to run into Marco. But there he was, waiting for me in the foyer, his imposing figure framed against the light streaming through the tall windows. His gray eyes found me instantly, and my heart skipped—not only at the sight of him but at the memory of his breath at my door, just a whisper away from a kiss that never came.“Sofia,” he said, his voice low but authoritative. “Come with me.”I frowned, my body tensing. “Where?” I asked, my tone sharper than I