All Chapters of THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

President Powell’s POV“Mr. President,” Chen said, his face appearing on the secure screen in my private study. “We have a problem.”Raising an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”He hesitated. “Our contact is no longer… viable.”I stood, my blood cooling. “What does that mean, Agent Chen?”“He’s dead, sir. Suicide by overdose. In his hotel room. Local police are calling it an accident, but..”“But you’re not convinced,” I finished for him. “Who else knew about this contact?”“No one, sir. Just me and you.”I studied his face. If he was lying, he was very good at it. But I didn’t think he was. He was too smart for that. “So how did he end up dead?”Chen’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know, sir. But his death is… suspicious.”I walked to the window, looking out over the city. This was bad. Very bad. “Where are the files?” I asked without turning around.“They’re missing, sir. Our tech team is working on recovering the data from his cloud backups, but…”“But it’s going to take time,” I finished. “Time we d

Dante’s POVThe city lights blurred past me in a smear of neon and darkness. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as I pushed the speedometer higher.Dante, where are you? My phone buzzed with Rico's text, and I glanced at the screen. Algeciras Port. East end. The cargo's moving.Fuck. I hit the gas, weaving through traffic with a precision born of desperation. The clock on the dashboard glared at me: 02:47. Too much time had passed.I knew what they were capable of. The images that flashed through my mind — girls bound and gagged, shoved into trucks like cattle — made my stomach twist with rage.I skidded around a corner, tires screeching in protest. My phone buzzed again.Dante, we've got footage. Plates. GPS coordinates. Sending you everything now.Rico. Thank God. I opened the files, scanning them quickly. The grainy video showed men in dark clothes, faces obscured, hauling crates from a ship. Then a glimpse of a girl, no more than fifteen, her eyes wide wit

Dante's POVThe call came at 3 a.m. local time, just as I was about to fall asleep. My heart raced as I saw the caller ID, knowing it could only mean one thing.“Dante. He's been arrested.”I sat up in bed, my body tense. “Are you sure?”“Yes. They got him at the docks, trying to smuggle more girls out. We've got footage, Dante. Clear as day. Him, the girls, the drugs… everything.”I let out a long breath, relief and anger warring inside me. “Good. That's fucking good. Now we just need to make sure he talks.”“You think he will?,” the voice on the other end assured me. “Not if he knows what's good for him. But we need to move fast, Dante. The President will try to shut this down before it gets out of hand.”“I know,” I said, already thinking several steps ahead. “Get me everything you can on Dunne's operation. Bank records, shipping manifests, everything.”“You got it. And Dante?”“Yeah?”A pause. “Be careful. Powell is going to come after you with everything he's got.”“I'm ready for

President Powell’s POVThe cameras clicked like insects in the bright glare of the briefing room. Rows of reporters filled the seats, eyes hungry, pens poised. I stood behind the podium, the presidential seal gleaming beneath the lights. Every word I said now had to be perfect.“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” I began, my voice steady and authoritative. “I stand before you today to address the recent developments in the ongoing investigation into the heinous crimes committed by Robert Dunne.”The room erupted into a flurry of raised hands and shouted questions, but I held up a hand, silencing them.“I understand the public's concern and outrage over these atrocities,” I continued. “Rest assured, my administration has been working tirelessly to ensure that those responsible face the full weight of justice.”I paused, surveying the crowd. “Unfortunately, in our pursuit of truth and accountability, we have faced unexpected challenges. The death of Robert Dunne, while tragic, has n

Lorenzo’s POVPowell had the look of a man trying on a new mask and discovering it did not fit. I set the folder down, pushed it toward him, and let the silence work for me. I had seen him strong and dangerous and petty. All of those faces were useful. Tonight I wanted the one that smelled of fear.“You read it,” I said.He did not look up. “How did you get this?”“How matters less than who keeps breathing when the papers find it,” I replied. I let the words land where they would. He swallowed, finally forcing himself to meet my eyes. That small, human crack in him tasted like advantage.He said, “You could ruin me.”I smiled without joy. “I could. Or I could make you useful.”He laughed, but it was a strained thing. “Useful to whom?”“To me.” I leaned in. “You want control of the narrative. You want to survive. I want a place at the table you think only you own. I want protection for people who matter to me. I want pieces of the map you still think you draw alone. I want a cut that