All Chapters of Unholy Matrimony: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

DominikThe damp, frigid air of the basement does nothing to dispel the suffocating reality of the man standing in front of me.Stefano Farina.He doesn't have the frantic, sweaty energy of a man staging a coup. He looks like he’s preparing to deliver a quarterly earnings report."You look surprised, Dominik," Stefano says mildly."I’m looking at a dead man," I reply, my voice a rough, bloody rasp. "I’m just trying to figure out how long it’s going to take the dirt to cover you."Stefano smiles. It’s a thin, patronizing expression that doesn't reach his denim blue eyes."Always the aggressive posturing," he notes, stepping closer to the metal table. He ignores Dervishi entirely, treating the heavily armed Albanian like a piece of rented furniture. "It’s what made you a very effective wartime Don. But it’s also your greatest vulnerability. You react to pressure with violence, never with calculation."I test the zip ties binding my wrists behind the chair. The thick plastic has alread

EveThe command center hums with the frantic, overlapping noise of Vincent’s keyboards and the heavy cooling fans of the server racks.Every monitor displays a different angle of the city’s digital infrastructure. Flashing algorithms, traffic grid layouts, and lists of corporate holdings scroll across the screens in a dizzying waterfall of data. We’re tearing New York apart byte by byte, searching for a single shadow in a metropolis of millions.Enzo paces the length of the concrete floor like a caged tiger.The drywall dust coating his black tactical gear sheds with every sharp turn he makes. He looks ready to commit murder, his massive hands constantly clenching and unclenching at his sides. The bruised, split flesh of his jaw is a harsh reminder of exactly how close to the edge Dominik was before he vanished.The silence between the keystrokes is agonizing. Every second that ticks by is another second my husband is in the hands of a sociopath. Then, my phone bursts into violent,

DominikThe sharp, abrupt click of the phone disconnecting echoes in the damp basement.Stefano stands perfectly still, staring at the darkened screen of the phone in his hand. The polite, arrogant mask he wears like a tailored suit doesn't just slip, it shatters.A dark, mottled red flush creeps up from his collar, settling high on his cheekbones. His breathing hitches, turning shallow and rapid. His thumb hovers over the screen, as if his brain can't quite compute the fact that a twenty-four-year-old woman just hung up on him after threatening to peel the skin off his hands with a scalpel.Dervishi shifts nervously in the shadows behind him, the heavy silver pistol still gripped in his hand. "What did she say? Is she bringing the passwords?"The Albanian could hear the conversation as well as I could. His brain is obviously turning into porridge.Stefano doesn't answer him. Slowly, he lowers the phone and looks at me. His eyes are filled with a frantic, humiliated rage."Your wife,

EveThe silent approach is over. The time for ghosts has passed.We know from the thermal imaging camera that there are seven people in the house. The person in the basement, who has a much cooler temperature than the others, is Dominik. The only thing giving me a shred of hope to hang on to, is the fact that nobody is down there with him. I can get to him before they attempt to use him as a hostage.Five bodies are in the room right behind this door. One is further back in the house, in what we think is the kitchen.There’s no point in trying to be quiet now. We have to go through the door, may as well do it with a bang.Enzo doesn't bother testing the rusted handle. He steps back, shifts his weight, and drives the heel of his heavy combat boot directly into the center of the rotting wood, right next to the deadbolt.The door explodes inward.The sound is deafening, a violent, splintering crash that shatters the oppressive silence of the neighborhood. The hinges scream as the door r

EveTwo weeks have passed since the night the world nearly ended.The sub-basement of the estate is a stark, utilitarian space. It sits three levels deep, far below the luxurious living quarters and completely separated from the intimate warmth of our playroom. It is a room built specifically for the syndicate's ugliest necessities, featuring raw concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and a sloped floor that leads directly to a central drain.Dominik doesn’t usually bring that kind of work home with him, but occasionally an emergency arises and you need somewhere easily accessible and properly equipped to question or kill people. Right now, it smells faintly of heavy-duty antiseptic. The coppery tang of blood will soon be added to the mix.The heavy door clicks shut and Enzo steps away from the threshold, taking up his position in the corner of the room. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, his face a completely unreadable mask of hardened stone.My attention immediat