All Chapters of THE MAFIA’S FORGOTTEN SON : Chapter 31
- Chapter 40
50 chapters
Final preparations and deadly silence
The safe house breathed like a living thing—low hum of servers, the scent of burnt coffee and old blood clinging to the concrete walls.Luka Voss sat hunched over Dante’s jury-rigged quantum decrypter, fingers flying across three keyboards at once.His eyes, sunken and shadowed from five years in Black Spire’s concrete womb, never left the cascading lines of code.Wires snaked from his workstation like veins feeding a mechanical heart. He didn’t blink and didn’t pause. Just tore through encryption protocols like a man digging his own grave.Marco leaned against the steel doorframe, arms crossed over his still-bandaged ribs."You look like a mad scientist who just found something strange in a spreadsheet," he called out, voice rough with exhaustion. "Any minute now you’ll cackle and summon lightning."Voss didn’t look up. His reply was a dry rasp, the voice of a man who’d forgotten how to speak above a whisper. "I’m not splitting atoms, ragazzo. I’m splitting the spine of Banca Nobile.
Hidden Agenda
In the war room, the final sequence played across three monitors—Luka Voss’s hands hovering over the keyboard like a conductor before the symphony begins. Dante leaned in, eyes sharp, pulse steady despite the weight of what they’d just done.“It’s open,” Voss said, voice raw, cracked like old leather. “Banca Nobile’s core. Every vault and every offshore ledger. Every encrypted transfer from Salvatore to his puppets in Rome, Zurich, Belgrade.”Dante exhaled through his nose. “I can’t believe the incrackable was cracked. This is a record man!”Voss didn’t smile. Just stared at the screen—the digital skeleton of an empire laid bare. “I built these walls. I know where the cracks are and where the blood leaks.”Adrian stood behind them, arms crossed, face unreadable. He didn’t speak and didn’t celebrate. Just watched as the final firewall collapsed, as account numbers blinked red, as transaction logs spilled into the light like entrails from a gutted beast.Seven operations.One day.The fa
The Judge’s Gambit: LEGEND OF ORION VALTIERI
The news hit Milan like a thunderclap."ORION VALTIERI RETURNS AS PRESIDING JUDGE IN DE LUCA-MARCHESE TRIAL"The headline blazed across every screen in the city—from the cracked televisions in Quarto Oggiaro tenements to the polished displays in the penthouses of Porta Nuova.News vans swarmed the courthouse steps. Reporters shouted over each other, microphones thrust toward anyone who might know something. Social media exploded with the hashtag #GhostJudge.Orion Valtieri.The man who had vanished years ago, leaving behind only rumors and a legacy carved in blood and justice.Some said he'd been assassinated by the DeLucas. Others whispered he'd fled to South America with a suitcase full of evidence. A few claimed he'd simply grown tired of fighting a war he couldn't win.But now?Now he was back.And the city felt it in their bones.In the slums, the reaction was immediate.Women paused in the middle of cooking dinner, hands frozen over steaming pots. Men stopped playing cards in the
Putting an end to the MASK!
One day.That’s all that stood between Milan and the trial that could either bury the monsters—or bury the man who dared to fight them.Inside the safe house, the air was thick with something that didn’t need to be named. It was tension, the kind that clings to your lungs and tastes like metal. Dante sat by the monitors, jaw tight, eyes flicking between camera feeds. Calvin cleaned his gun for the fifth time, movements sharp, deliberate. Elena paced, restless, her boots echoing against the floor. And Marco—bandaged, restless, alive by luck alone—drummed his fingers against his leg like he was keeping time with death.But Adrian hadn’t said a word.He’d been sitting at his desk since dawn, staring at a photo that had no right to still exist—Isabella’s photo. His mother. The woman whose voice had been the only thing strong enough to drown out the screams in his head. Her eyes still carried warmth, her smile still carried home.And then he stood with no words and no warning.It was just a
FINAL JUDGEMENT: LIFE OR DEATH PART 1
The courthouse steps were slick with rain, gleaming like freshly spilled blood under the Milan sky. Adrian DeLuca didn’t climb them, he claimed them powerfully.One step at a time, his boots striking the stone with the rhythm of a heartbeat counting down to war. The crowd parted before him—men in suits, women in scarves, children hoisted on shoulders—like Moses parting the Red Sea. Cameras flashed like gunfire. Microphones thrust forward. Voices shouted his name—Adrian! Adrian!—not as a plea, but as a chant.Then he saw them.Matteo and Luca DeLuca stood just inside the entrance, flanked by two men in black suits—wolves in sheep’s clothing, Adrian thought. Their faces were carved from ice, their postures rigid with contempt. Luca’s jaw was tight, his eyes burning with something between fury and disbelief. Matteo wore that same cold smirk he’d worn since they were boys, but Adrian saw the flicker behind it. Fear."Look who crawled out of the gutter," Luca said, voice dripping with venom
FINAL JUDGEMENT: LIFE OR DEATH PART 2
The gavel cracked like a gunshot through the courtroom.Silence.Orion Valtieri adjusted his robes, eyes sweeping the room with the calm precision of a man who had stared into the abyss and refused to blink. "Order in the court," he said, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We continue with opening statements"Adrian stood.He walked slowly to the center of the room, boots clicking against marble, eyes scanning the jury like a general assessing his troops. The crowd held its breath. Even Enzo and Riccardo stopped whispering, sensing the shift in the air."Your Honor," Adrian began, voice low but carrying through every corner of the room, "this is not a trial about legal technicalities. This is not a trial about loopholes or jurisdiction. This is a trial about blood."He turned to face the jury."Sofia Vieri was twenty-three years old. She worked nights at Trattoria Bianca to feed her mother. She had dreams. She had hope. She had a future."He paused, letting the words sink
FINAL JUDGEMENT: LIFE OR DEATH PART 3
The courtroom still vibrated with the aftermath of the verdict."Adrian! Adrian! Adrian!"The chants continued throughout, growing louder with each passing second. Gina Vieri was now finally happy, her daughter got her justice. Orion Valtieri had already left the bench, disappearing through the back chambers with the quiet dignity of a man who had just delivered history.Enzo and Riccardo had been dragged away, they had screamed threats, still denying reality. Their lawyers sat in stunned silence, papers scattered across the table like the remnants of a battle they hadn't known they'd lost.Adrian stood at the center of the storm, watching the chaos with eyes that had seen too much to be surprised by anything anymore. This was justice (spiced up with a "little" vengeance you know)Then his phone buzzed.Just once.A single vibration against his thigh.He didn't need to look at it.He already knew.'Now'.◇◇◇◇◇Salvatore sat in his study, the television muted, his face carved from stone
The Void of Deluca
Four days.That's all it took for the world to collapse.Four days since the verdict.Four days since the empire crumbled.Four days since Alessandra DeLuca died.And Salvatore hadn't left his study.Not once.The door remained shut, locked from the inside. Servants left meals outside—trays of untouched food growing cold, glasses of Amarone untouched, cigars unsmoked. Luca and Matteo had tried to get in. Once. Twice. A dozen times. Each time met with silence. Each time walking away with heavier hearts.Now, Alessandra was buried.In a private ceremony at dawn, beneath a gray Milan sky that wept for her. There was no mourners beyond the immediate family. Just Luca, Matteo, and a handful of servants carrying the casket to the DeLuca family crypt.Luca had wanted to scream when he saw the empty space beside him—the space where Salvatore should have been. Matteo had simply tightened his jaw, said nothing, but his eyes burned with something Luca had never seen before. It wasn’t even anger o
Day of Execution
The dawn came pale and cold.The kind of silence that settles over a city before it bleeds.Adrian stood at the window of the safe house, watching the first light creep across Milan’s skyline like a thief. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. He just stood there, waiting.Today was the day.Six days since the verdict.Six days since justice had been served in court.Today, it would be served in blood.Enzo DeLuca and Riccardo Marchesi were scheduled for execution at 6:00 AM sharp—lethal injection in the cold, sterile chamber of Milan’s maximum-security prison. The city had been buzzing with anticipation since the verdict, divided between those who wanted to see them burn and those who still believed in the DeLuca name.Adrian didn’t care what they thought.All he cared about was justice for Sofia.All he cared about was making sure her name wasn’t buried with her body.At 5:30 AM, Adrian stood watching the live feed on Dante's monitors. His face was stone, but his hands—hidden in the pockets
Ghosts of the Adriatic
They all finally arrived at the Adriatic Sea in their different means of transportation —a jagged coastline of white stone and blue water that cut through the Croatian hills like a knife through silk. The air smelled of salt and pine, not gasoline and blood like Milan. The streets were narrow, cobbled, washed in sunlight that didn’t feel like a threat. Here, the city didn’t watch you. It welcomed you.The Adriatic Sea stretched before them like shattered glass under the Croatian sun—sharp, beautiful, dangerous.They'd chosen well.Croatia wasn't just a hiding place. It was a statement.Not too far from Milan—just a short flight across the Adriatic—but worlds away from the stone and steel of northern Italy. Here, the air smelled of salt and pine instead of exhaust and espresso. The streets weren't paved with centuries of blood and power, but with smooth white stone that gleamed under the Mediterranean sun. The people spoke in a language that cut like knives but smiled with the warmth of