Alle Kapitel von Dark Obsession : Kapitel 31 – Kapitel 40

Silvano The new mark is straightforward. A mid-level politician skimming funds from the wrong accounts and talking too loudly about deals that should stay buried. I handle it before dawn—clean entry, silenced shot, staged suicide with a forged note. No witnesses. No traces. Silenzio does what he was built for. By sunrise the city already whispers about another tragic loss in public service. I should feel nothing. I usually do. Today the kill sits heavier than it should. Maybe because Mirella’s face keeps flashing behind my eyes. Or maybe because every completed mission reminds me how easily the Organization can redirect my aim again. The summons comes two hours later. The Don wants to see me. I drive to the old industrial district on the eastern edge of the city, where abandoned factories hide underground fortresses. The Bravata’s central nerve. Security is tighter than usual. Two men I recognize stop me at the outer gate. I hand over my primary weapon, my watch, and the encryp

Mirella The second day after returning home, the walls of my father’s house feel like they’re closing in. Rosa’s story about Vittorio Caruso’s murder still echoes in my head. I move through the day like a ghost—polite smiles for my father, careful words, perfect daughter mask firmly in place. But inside, I’m unraveling. Silvano’s encrypted phone stays silent most of the day. Then, just after midnight, a single message appears. Silvano: Balcony door. Now. My heart slams against my ribs. I slip downstairs in bare feet and a silk robe, heart racing. The garden is dark. The moment I step onto the private balcony off the east wing, strong arms pull me back against a hard chest. Silvano’s scent—dark spice and rain—surrounds me. “You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, even as I melt into him. “I couldn’t stay away.” His voice is rough, low against my ear. “Two days of watching you pretend. Two days of reading your messages and not answering. I’m done holding back.” He turns me in h

Mirella I stand in front of the full-length mirror, my hands trembling slightly as I smooth down the fabric of the dress. Father appears behind me in the reflection, his expression cold and calculating. He holds up the deep emerald green gown he has chosen — high neckline, long sleeves, elegant but suffocating. “This one,” he says, laying it on my bed like an order that cannot be questioned. “tie your hair up. Minimal makeup. The pearls I gave you last year will do with it.” I nod, my throat tight. “Yes, Father.” He steps closer and grips my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I mean it. You will behave. Don't speak unless it's necessary. Smile when required. If anything goes wrong at the Vescari house — if you embarrass me in any way — you will answer to me. Do you understand?” The memory of Vittorio Caruso’s murder flashes through my mind. I swallow hard. “I understand.” “Good.” He releases my chin. “Be ready in twenty minutes.” The drive to the Vescari family estate

Mirella The SUV races through the back streets, tires humming against wet asphalt. I keep my hands pressed hard against the wound on Silvano’s side, but blood keeps seeping between my fingers. His breathing is shallow and ragged. Every bump in the road makes him grunt in pain, but he refuses to let go of me. “Stay with me,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Please, Silvano. We’re almost there.” He doesn’t answer. His head lolls slightly against the seat, eyes half-closed. The driver — one of his men — keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, jaw tight. I’ve never felt so helpless. We finally pull into an underground garage beneath what looks like an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. The moment the engine cuts off, two men rush forward to help. Silvano tries to stand on his own, but his legs buckle. I cry out as he slumps heavily against me. “Easy,” one of the men says, taking most of his weight. “We’ve got you, boss.” They half-carry him through a reinforced door a

Silvano Luciano Caruso stares at me like he’s deciding whether to shoot me now or later. The shipping office feels smaller with every second of silence. His two men stand tense behind him, hands near their weapons. Tiziano and Ciro stay calm beside me, but I can feel their readiness. Luciano finally leans back in his chair, a humorless smile pulling at his mouth. “You protect what’s yours,” he repeats slowly. “Salviati’s daughter. The same girl whose father murdered my brother in cold blood and let my nephew rot in prison. And now you want a truce?” “Not a full truce,” I reply evenly. “A mutual understanding. You keep your men away from Mirella Salviati. In exchange, we feed you solid information on Riccardo. Locations. Weaknesses. Schedules. Whatever helps you take the revenge you actually want.” Luciano’s eyes narrow. “Why should I believe you? You’ve been working with the Bravata for years. Silenzio doesn’t suddenly grow a conscience.” I don’t flinch at the name. “The Organiz