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🛑 NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER! A ruthless prison thug thought he found an easy target in the quiet new inmate. He had NO IDEA he just punched the most feared Mafia Boss in history—who entered the prison BY CHOICE. Click to read the insane ending! 😱👇 #Drama #Suspense #PlotTwist #MustRead / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - The Warden’s Ghost

Warden Arthur Vance sat in his air-conditioned office on the third floor, sipping premium scotch. Blackridge Maximum Security Prison was a goldmine for him. Between the government funding he skimmed and the kickbacks from smuggling syndicates, he was set for life.

His phone buzzed on his desk. It was an unlisted, secure line.

Vance picked it up, expecting his offshore broker. "Speak."

"Arthur," a smooth, cultured voice said on the other end. "The air conditioning in your office is set to sixty-eight degrees. A bit chilly for July, don't you think?"

Vance stiffened, dropping his glass. The scotch spilled across his mahogany desk. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"Look out your window, Arthur."

The Warden stood up, his legs shaking, and walked over to the thick glass overlooking the prison yard. Down below, hundreds of inmates were walking in circles. But right in the center, standing completely still, was Roman Calder. He was looking directly up at the Warden's window, holding a contraband cell phone to his ear.

"You..." Vance gasped. "Calder? The fraud convict? How do you have a satellite phone?"

"The same way I have the routing numbers for your Cayman Islands accounts, Arthur," Roman replied smoothly. "The accounts where you deposited four million dollars from the Moretti syndicate to look the other way when their rivals died in solitary confinement."

Vance’s face went entirely pale. "What do you want? Money? A transfer?"

"I don't want to leave, Arthur. I came here on purpose," Roman laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "Five years ago, a man named Marcus Vance—your brother—was the district attorney who orchestrated the hit on my family under the guise of a police raid. He took my wife. He took my son. And then he retired and hid inside the administrative walls of the Department of Corrections."

The Warden stumbled backward, hitting his desk. "You're... you're Roman Calderone. The head of the Midnight Syndicate. The syndicate that went dark three years ago."

"I didn't go dark. I just went hunting," Roman said. "Your brother Marcus is currently residing in the protective custody wing of this very prison, living like a king under your protection. I am here to collect his debt. And if you interfere, your bank accounts, your crimes, and your family's locations will be leaked to every cartel you've ever crossed. Do we understand each other, Warden?"

There was a long pause. The Warden looked down at the yard. Roman Calderone wasn't a prisoner. The prison was just his playground.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

"What do you want me to do?" the Warden whispered, defeated.

"Unlock Block S tonight," Roman said. "And tell your guards to take an extended dinner break."

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