Todos os capítulos de The Don's Dirty Obsession : Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

Six months had passed since the fire consumed the base and everything Cedric thought he knew about his life.New identity. New city. New name. He was Chris now, a quiet veterinary technician in a small clinic in Portland, Oregon. The place smelled of antiseptic, wet fur, and the faint coffee from the break room. He worked the late shift most nights, treating neighborhood cats with ear infections and dogs that reminded him too much of the pit bulls he used to save. He didn’t use cocaine anymore. He went to therapy twice a week and talked about everything except New York. He fed stray cats behind the building and tried not to think about platinum necklaces or men who burned cities for love.Lily was in school now. She spoke in full sentences most days, laughed at recess, and had nightmares about fire and blood but otherwise seemed to be healing. Their mother lived two blocks away, working at a hospice, pretending not to know where the steady deposits in her account really came from. The

The yacht rocked gently on the dark Pacific water, anchored far enough off the Oregon coast that the city lights were nothing more than a faint golden smear on the horizon. The deck was quiet except for the soft slap of waves against the hull and the occasional click of Gianni’s lighter as he lit another cigarette. He paced back and forth along the railing, chain-smoking, the orange tip glowing like a warning in the night. Smoke curled around him in the cool sea air.Cedric sat on a padded bench near the stern, Lily asleep in his lap. Her small head rested heavy against his chest, her breathing steady but occasionally interrupted by tiny twitches, remnants of nightmares that still haunted her. He stroked her hair slowly, feeling the weight of her trust, the fragility of the peace they had tried to build.Gianni finally stopped pacing. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the black sea. “Enzo was twelve when Dante was ‘executed,’” he said finally, voice low and rough from smok

The new safe house was a sprawling farmhouse in upstate New York, surrounded by endless fields and thick forest that swallowed sound and secrets alike. For three months, it almost worked. Gianni had officially retired, or at least pretended to. The Falcone empire ran through lieutenants now, with him pulling strings from a distance through encrypted calls and late-night meetings in the barn. Cedric spent his days at a small local veterinary clinic treating farmers’ horses and cows, coming home with mud on his boots and the faint smell of animals in his hair. At night he fell into Gianni’s arms, letting the man remind him with hands and mouth that he was still wanted, still claimed, still alive.Lily was in therapy three times a week. She spoke in full sentences now, laughed at silly cartoons, and went to a small private school under a new name. The nightmares about fire and blood still came, but less often. Linda had moved into the guest house out back, gardening obsessively like she

The warehouse was colder than the street outside. Cedric’s breath fogged in the air as he walked through the open door, hands raised high, no visible weapons. The wire under his shirt felt like a live coal against his skin, recording every breath, every footstep. Every echo off the concrete floor sounded like a warning. He passed empty cages, chains bolted to the floor, and a small child’s shoe lying in a dark pool that could have been oil or blood. His stomach twisted, but he kept walking, eyes scanning the shadows.Kessler waited in the center of the open space, gun in one hand, Marcus bleeding on the floor beside him. The children were huddled in a large cage behind them, small faces pressed against the bars, eyes wide with terror. Tomas was there, alive, scared, but alive, staring at Cedric with desperate hope.“You came,” Kessler said, almost admiring. “I didn’t think you had the balls.”Cedric kept his hands visible. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”Kessler gestured to a metal cha

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and old regrets. Marcus lay in the bed, his leg elevated in traction, pale and drawn from blood loss and surgery. Machines beeped steadily beside him, monitoring the damage Kessler’s bullet had done. When Cedric and Gianni walked in, Marcus didn’t look surprised. He just smiled weakly, like he’d been expecting them all along.“The nurse told me there were men in suits outside my door,” Marcus said, voice rough from painkillers. “Falcone’s, I assume.”Gianni nodded once, standing near the door like he didn’t trust himself any closer. “Protection. The people who shot you want you dead.”Marcus laughed, a weak, bitter sound. “Everyone wants me dead. I’m not special.”Cedric stepped forward, stopping at the foot of the bed. “We need your father’s files. The ones from the Dante case. The real evidence. The stuff that was fabricated.”Marcus’s expression hardened. “Those files got my father killed. You think I’m just going to hand them over?”Gianni