All Chapters of The Mafia King's Obsession : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Dominic“Thank you, Mr. Vance.”A short dip of the head is enough. No pause. No small talk. The glittering foyer of the Grand Regent Hotel is loud and alive, people moving in every direction, voices bouncing off polished stone. Shoes echo as I cross the space and head for the stairs instead of the elevators. I like the stairs. Fewer people. Fewer delays.The private stairwell is quiet. Too quiet. The smell hits halfway down. Disinfectant mixed with lavender. Clean, sharp, and heavy. It sticks in my nose and doesn’t let go. The kind of smell that says control, order, routine.At the bottom, the front desk comes into view.“Good morning, Mr. Vance.”Lila looks up the second she sees me. Blonde hair perfect. Smile bright and hopeful.“Morning, Lila.”That’s all she gets. She opens her mouth, ready to say more, but I move past her before she can. She’s nice. Too nice. And she likes me. That’s obvious. Which is exactly why I keep my distance.There are rules. Always have been. Sex is simp

DominicTo keep my thoughts from spiraling, my attention drifts to the yellow note taped to the vanity mirror. The edge is peeling slightly, like it's been there a while. Maybe I'll take the new textbook over myself instead of sending someone. It's been years since I walked through my old neighborhood without an agenda. Bellavista hasn't seen me in a long time. Going back might stir things up, but that isn't always bad.At the very least, I can stop by La Dolce Vita Bakery. Cannoli always taste better when they come with memories. And it wouldn't hurt to remind the Golden Phoenix who actually controls Bellavista. They've grown too comfortable lately.Yes. That will do.I fasten my favorite cufflinks, slow and careful. The small gold crowns catch the light. They always do. Mamma used to tease me about them. She called me her piccolo principe. Her little prince. Back then, I believed her.Now I'm older. Harder. No fairy tales left. I'm not a prince anymore. I'm the man who signs the p

Dominic“I want him gone, Enzo,” I say into my phone, voice rough but controlled, while sitting at a small metal table outside La Dolce Vita Bakery in Bellavista. The chair is uncomfortable. The street smells like sugar, coffee, and car exhaust. I don’t mind. I like knowing what’s around me.A waitress sets a plate of cannoli in front of me. It lands a little harder than needed. I look up.Her face is mostly hidden. White cap pulled low. Dark sunglasses too big for her face. Strands of black hair slip out and brush her cheeks. Her lips form a quiet O. She clearly heard me.I pause. Lower my voice before continuing. She places a small espresso cup beside the plate, careful now, slower.“Sorry,” I mouth to her.She nods once. No smile. No comment. Head down.My eyes drift to her name tag.Lana Hawthorne.The name tugs at something buried. Old. Soft. I almost miss it. I’ve heard that name before. Somewhere that mattered. Or maybe that’s just my mind playing games again. It’s been doing

DominicPresent day.The old pawn shop door slams back against the wall as I rush inside. My heart is beating too fast, too loud, like it's trying to break free. When Rocco's text came through a few minutes ago, I didn't even think. I told my driver to cut across traffic, lanes be damned, and get me here now.Isabel Sterling's daughter is here.The words still don't sit right. I hadn't heard that name in close to ten years. Not once. I thought I'd buried it deep enough. But the second I read it, the past ripped itself open. Faces. Voices. Blood. Loss. All of it waiting, just beneath the surface.The shop is small, cramped, familiar in a way I don't like. I tear through the space between the front counter and the back room where Rocco handles business. My shoulder clips the doorframe as I shove through. I nearly rip the door off its hinges.I stop myself. Just barely.A breath. Slow. Controlled.I'm not that kid anymore. Not the angry, powerless boy who watched everything fall apart.

LanaA sharp tremor runs straight down my spine as the car cuts through traffic on Riverside Parkway, heading toward the Heights. The windows blur with lights and movement, but all I can focus on is the tight feeling in my chest. My jaw wants to shake. I press my teeth together until it hurts. I will not show fear. Not to him. Not to anyone in this car.The silence stretches. It feels heavy, crowded, like it's pressing in on me from all sides. Every second that passes gives my mind more room to spiral.What is he going to do to me?The two men in the front keep calling him capo. Boss. Italian.That word alone sets my nerves on edge.Is this man really the head of the Kings? The stories say their leader doesn't make mistakes. That he doesn't act without a reason.So why take me? Why go through all this trouble?Another chill crawls over my skin. My arms break out in goosebumps. I glance across the wide leather seat at him again. He hasn't moved much. He's focused on his laptop, finge