All Chapters of Angel In The Mafia’s Hell : Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

Evangeline The instant I crossed the threshold, the air shifted. A chill crept along my spine, thick with menace, and I knew—something was very wrong.Their eyes found me first. My mother’s hands were knotted together in her lap like she was praying for a miracle. My father sat in his armchair, whiskey sweating in his fist, newspaper crumpled in the other. Their silence cut sharper than any blade.“Evangeline.” My father’s voice was low, heavy with the kind of danger that leaves no room for escape. “We need to talk.”My pulse thundered as I stepped closer, my throat tightening. “Papa… what’s wrong?”His gaze pinned me where I stood. “Where have you been?”They knew. God help me, they knew.The secret I had carried, fragile as glass, shattered in that single breath. I had told myself our love could survive the war between our families. But I had been naïve. So very naïve.Drawing in air that felt like knives, I whispered, “I was with Alonzo Georgino.”My father’s face twisted into fur

Giselle The candy bar dangled from my lips like a pathetic shield against the world, its sweetness a cruel contrast to the unease gnawing in my gut. I shoved my earbuds in, Billie Eilish whispering Birds of a Feather into my skull as the sun pressed warm fingers against my face. For one fleeting moment, everything almost felt normal.But normal doesn’t last. Not for me.I veered down the shortcut, pocketing the candy wrapper before Mrs. Willowbee could spot me. That woman and her ketchup-chip obsession were enough to haunt my nightmares. Worse were her gnomes—lined in perfect ranks across her lawn, their chipped smiles frozen in eerie welcome. I swear their painted eyes followed me, mocking, knowing.My fence came into view. I tossed my backpack over and vaulted after it, landing with an undignified oomph on the grass. Dirt clung to my jeans as I hauled myself upright, trying to shake off the sudden prickle skating down my spine.That’s when I saw it.The screen door. Crooked. Hangin

Giselle My stomach felt like it was eating itself as this psycho casually stepped out of our fucking closet like he was emerging from a spa day. Cool as ice, he turned to face the cops who’d shown up to what they thought was a routine call.Wrong night for routine.The officer’s scream cut through the house like a chainsaw, followed by the symphony of our furniture becoming kindling. Grunts, crashes, the whole violent orchestra.“Get off me!” Mom’s voice—raw, desperate, nothing like the woman who sang me lullabies.“No, no, no, no!” Dad’s pleas hit different than his usual dad-jokes. This was pure terror in surround sound.I wanted to burst out of this cramped hiding spot and do something—anything—but Uncle Malik’s grip kept me anchored to helplessness.“Stronzo!” The second killer went full Italian rage mode. “You fucking bitch!” More angry Italian followed, words I didn’t understand but felt in my bones.Then silence. The kind that means everything just changed forever.“Let’s bou