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THE MAFIA BOSS'S GAMBLE: She Was A Ghost With 2-Meter Hair, But One Reveal Changed The World Forever / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - The Siege of the Penthouse

The silence was shattered at 3:00 AM.

The security system didn't beep—it died. A signal jammer. Dante grabbed his pistol, but Elena was already at the door, pulling a hidden blade from the seam of the expensive silk robe he’d given her.

“Stay back,” Dante commanded.

“They aren't here for you, Dante,” she said, her face calm. “They are here for the person they thought they killed.”

The door exploded inward. Six men in tactical gear poured in, silencers hissing. Dante engaged, his movements a blur of training and instinct, but he was pinned behind the kitchen island. A bullet grazed his ribs.

He looked for Elena, expecting her to be cowering. Instead, he saw a ghost.

She was moving with a speed that defied logic. She didn't fight like a street brawler; she fought like a ghost of the old world—precise, anatomical, efficient. She didn't hit to bruise; she hit to end. In under a minute, the floor was silent. The attackers were neutralized, not by bullets, but by nerve strikes.

Dante stared at her, blood dripping from his side. She wiped a speck of blood from her cheek, her expression unreadable.

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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...

“You’ve been hiding your talent,” Dante rasped.

“I’ve been waiting for the scent of the traitor,” she replied. “And I’ve found it. It’s on your own security chief, Marcus.”

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