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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 4 / 6

Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master Unveiled

The realization hit Dante like a freight train. Marcus, his right-hand man, had been the one to authorize the breach. The betrayal was total.

“Why?” Dante asked, gripping his side as they moved through the secret tunnels of his estate.

“Because,” Elena said, leading the way with a tactical grace that made Dante feel like a novice, “everyone in this city is terrified of the return of the Valenti name. They think the bloodline is cursed. They want the power, but they want it hollowed out.”

They reached the basement—a command center Dante hadn't even fully utilized. Elena sat at the terminal. Her fingers danced across the keys. She wasn't just a survivor; she was the architect.

“I let them think I was a beggar,” she explained, not looking at him. “I needed to see who would turn when the pressure mounted. You protected me when you had nothing to gain. That makes you the only asset I trust.”

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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...

She pulled up a file. It wasn't a crime ledger. It was a list of names—the judges, the senators, the bankers—all of them on the Valenti payroll, all of them waiting for her signal.

“The Mafia didn't destroy my family, Dante,” she whispered, looking at him with terrifying clarity. “The government did. And tonight, I’m going to burn the house down.”

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