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THE PARALYZED MAFIA KING’S CHAOTIC CAREGIVER He Thought She Was An Angel. She Found The Demon Who Ruined Him. / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - Secrets in the Safehouse

They survived the drop, barely. Viktor’s extraction team intercepted them in the gardens, hustling Dante into a heavily armored SUV while Mara, trembling and bleeding from minor glass cuts, was thrown in next to him.

Two hours later, they were tucked away in a hidden safehouse—a converted underground bunker beneath an abandoned brewery on the outskirts of Bellador.

The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a raw, painful exhaustion. Mara sat on a metal stool, carefully cleaning the cuts on Dante’s arms. The mafia king sat in a spare wheelchair, staring at the concrete wall with an intensity that could melt iron.

"You should be resting," Mara said softly, applying antiseptic to a scratch on his forearm. "Your muscles are bound to spasm after that strain."

"My brother died because of you," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "And tonight, I almost died because of you. I should walk away."

Dante’s hand shot out, grasping her wrist. It wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was unyielding. "Why don't you?"

"Because whoever killed Owen is out there," Mara said, looking directly into his glacial eyes. "And they think they won. I want to know who gave the order."

Dante stared at her for a long moment, a strange, unreadable emotion flickering in his gaze. "Viktor ran the forensics on the tech used to cut the mansion's power. It wasn't military grade. It was syndicate tech. Proprietary to the Vale family."

Mara’s breath hitched. "A mole? Someone inside your inner circle?"

"Not just anyone," Dante said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Only three people have access to those specific blueprints. Viktor, my cousin Marcus, and my head of finance, Silas."

"Viktor saved us tonight," Mara pointed out.

"Or he staged it to look that way to clear himself of suspicion," Dante countered coldly. "In my world, trust is a luxury that gets you a bullet in the back. But they made a mistake."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a encrypted burner phone that Viktor had recovered from one of the dead mercenaries.

"The phone has one contact programmed into it. An encrypted IP address. I need someone to trace it, someone who isn't connected to the mafia. Someone who can move around Bellador without drawing the attention of my guards."

Mara looked at the phone, then at Dante. "You want me to do it."

"You're chaotic, Quinn. You don't follow rules, you don't scare easily, and nobody suspects the caregiver," Dante said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "But it's dangerous. If they catch you, I won't be there to protect you."

"I don't need your protection, Mr. Vale," Mara said, snatching the phone from his hand. "I need answers."

The next morning, Mara tracked the IP address to a high-end financial firm downtown—Silas’s corporate headquarters. Posing as a medical courier delivering Dante’s 'updated health insurance files,' she managed to slip into the executive server room while the receptionist was distracted.

She plugged in the decryption drive Dante had given her. The progress bar crept up slowly. 10%... 50%... 90%...

Suddenly, the heavy glass door of the server room clicked open.

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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...

Mara spun around, her heart dropping into her stomach. Standing there wasn't Silas.

It was Viktor. And he had a silenced pistol pointed directly at her chest.

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