The news hit Boston like a bomb.
Within hours, everyone was talking about what happened at the wedding. Lesner—the untouchable, the king of the underworld—had been humiliated at his own altar. And not by a rival boss or a police raid. By a boy. A ghost. No one knew his name. No one had ever seen him before. But they saw him now. Men in red. Thousands of them. Guns hidden under priest robes. An army that appeared from nowhere. And at the center of it all, a young man in a crimson suit who walked like he owned the world. People whispered in bars. They argued in streets. They made calls in the dark. Who was he? Where did he come from? And how did he break Lesner so easily? No one had answers. But everyone felt the shift. The balance of power in Boston had just been shattered. --- Inside the Ciaro mansion, no one spoke. Thirty minutes had passed since they returned from the church. Thirty minutes of dead silence. Mrs. Ciaro sat in her chair, a cold cup of tea forgotten in her hands. Her daughters were scattered around the room—Stacy on the sofa, Sophia by the window, Lily near the fireplace. None of them moved. None of them breathed too loud. The clock ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. Finally, Stacy couldn't take it anymore. "Someone say something," she blurted out. Sophia shook her head. "What is there to say? Did you see him? That wasn't Andrew. That couldn't have been Andrew." "It was him," Lily said quietly. "We've lived with him for years. That was his face." "His face, yes," Sophia shot back. "But everything else? The suit? The army? The way he looked at Lesner like he was already dead?" She hugged herself. "That was a different person." Mrs. Ciaro finally spoke. Her voice was low. Tired. "I've known that boy since he was ten years old. I watched him grow up in this house. And I never—not once—saw this coming." Stacy turned to her mother. "How, Mom? How did he get an army? How did he get military generals and government officials to bow to him? You knew his father. You must know something." Mrs. Ciaro shook her head slowly. "Your father kept secrets. Deep ones. He told me Andrew's father was someone important. But he never said how important." She paused. "I thought he was just being kind to an orphan. I was wrong." Stacy leaned back, frustration boiling in her chest. "So we've been mocking a monster this whole time? Calling him useless? Treating him like garbage?" Lily crossed her arms. "He's not a monster. He's just... not what we thought." "That's worse," Sophia whispered. "Much worse." --- No one mentioned Emilia. She wasn't there. After the church, after Andrew took her hand and walked her past thousands of men in red, she didn't come back. She left with him. Climbed into his car and disappeared into the city. It was almost funny. The same sisters who had laughed at her for being married to a nobody were now sitting in shock, trying to process the fact that her nobody had just destroyed Boston's most dangerous criminal. The same mother who had tried to sell her off to Lesner was now drinking cold tea, too stunned to speak. Stacy broke the silence again. "Did you see Emilia's face during all of it?" Sophia nodded. "She wasn't surprised. Not even a little." "Exactly," Stacy said. "She didn't flinch when the guns came out. She didn't scream when the priest pulled that pistol. She just stood there. Like she was waiting for something." Lily frowned. "You think she knew?" "She had to know," Stacy insisted. "There's no way she went through that whole ceremony looking that calm without knowing something was going to happen." Mrs. Ciaro set down her tea. Her hand was shaking. "Emilia has always been good at hiding her feelings. But this... this was different. She wasn't just calm. She was expecting it." Sophia's eyes widened. "You think Andrew told her? You think they planned this together?" No one answered. Because no one knew. And that uncertainty was more terrifying than any answer. --- A knock on the door made them all jump. One of Mrs. Ciaro's men stepped inside. A folder bulged under his arm. His face was pale, serious. "I've gathered some information, ma'am," he said. Mrs. Ciaro sat up straight. Her eyes sharpened. "What did you find?" The man walked to the center of the room and opened the folder. "I've been digging all day. Calls. Records. Old contacts. It took time, but I confirmed it." "Confirmed what?" Stacy demanded. The man looked directly at Mrs. Ciaro. "Andrew Chappatti is the leader of a dangerous organization called the Chappatti Cartel. It was founded by his father over twenty years ago. His father was murdered when Andrew was a child—killed in his own home." Mrs. Ciaro's face went white. "The Chappatti Cartel... I've heard that name before. Your husband mentioned it once. He said it was the most powerful force the underworld had ever seen." The man nodded. "That's correct, ma'am. And from what I've gathered, Andrew isn't just a member. He's the supreme leader. The heir to an empire that makes Lesner look like a street dealer." Stacy's mouth fell open. "So all this time... while we were calling him useless... while we were laughing at him for fixing electronics..." "He was building an army," Lily finished. Sophia buried her face in her hands. "We're dead. He's going to kill us. After everything we did—" "Stop," Mrs. Ciaro cut her off. Her voice was sharp. "If he wanted us dead, we wouldn't be sitting here. He had thousands of men at that church. He could have taken everything in minutes." "Then what does he want?" Stacy asked. The room went silent. Mrs. Ciaro looked at the security man. "Is there anything else?" The man hesitated. Then he nodded. "One more thing, ma'am. The Chappatti Cartel doesn't just deal in drugs and violence. They have connections everywhere. Government. Military. Even foreign powers. Andrew Chappatti isn't just a crime boss." He paused. "He's one of the most powerful men in the country. Maybe the world." Mrs. Ciaro picked up her tea cup again. Her hand wouldn't stop shaking. "Leave us," she said quietly. The man bowed and walked out. The sisters sat in stunned silence. The clock ticked on the wall. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the room in shadows. Stacy finally spoke, her voice small. "Mom... what do we do now?" Mrs. Ciaro stared into her cup. "I don't know," she admitted. "For the first time in my life... I have absolutely no idea." ---Latest Chapter
Trouble
The guy stood at the edge of the pool, arms folded across his chest. He was muscular, tall, with a broad chest and thick arms that looked like he spent more time in the gym than anywhere else. But his face—his face was rough. Ugly, even. A crooked nose, narrow eyes, and a jaw that looked like it had been broken and put back together wrong. He stared down at David like David was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.David was frozen. His heart was pounding. He looked at Catherine, expecting her to look as confused as he felt. But she wasn't confused. She looked embarrassed. Like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have."Excuse me," David said, finding his voice. "Who are you?""I should be asking you that question," the guy said, his voice low and mean. "What are you—""Why in the hell do you always like making my life a nightmare, Philip?" Catherine cut him off. Her voice was sharp, tired, like she had said these words a hundred times before. "What have I done to y
THE CULTURAL WEEK
The whole school was buzzing.Cultural week was the biggest event of the year at Darlington University. Students from every corner of the world—Americans, Asians, Africans, Europeans—all came together to celebrate their heritage. The campus was decorated with flags and banners, food stalls were set up along the main walkways, and music from different cultures played from speakers mounted on every building.The talk everywhere was about the bonfire party. It was the official kickoff, happening on the school field at 8pm. Everyone was going. Everyone was excited.David had been monitoring Catherine for days. He knew her schedule, her habits, her favorite spots. He knew she would be at the cafeteria that afternoon with her friends, planning their outfits for the bonfire.He walked in like he was just passing through. He grabbed a tray, bought a drink, and turned around—bumping straight into her."Oh, sorry," he said, stepping back. Then his face lit up with recognition. "Catherine, right
CHAPTER 31
David woke up before dawn.He lay in his hostel bed, staring at the ceiling, going over the plan in his head for the hundredth time. Today was the day. He had waited long enough.He had studied Catherine's routine for over a week now. She ate breakfast at the same café near the law faculty every morning at 7:30, always alone, always with a book. She had a free period after her first lecture, which she spent in the library courtyard on the same bench, reading. Same spot. Same time. Every day.He got up, showered, and dressed carefully. Casual but presentable. Jeans, a plain shirt, clean sneakers. He looked at himself in the mirror. Tall, athletic, with a strong jaw and sharp brown eyes that women noticed more than he liked to admit. He had been chosen for this mission for a reason—his looks, his charm, his ability to make people trust him. He planned to use all of it.This is my only shot, he thought. I can't afford to mess it up.---He arrived at the café at 7:15 and bought a coffee.
CHAPTER 30
David sat on the edge of his bed in the small hostel room, staring at the photographs spread out before him. Three faces. Two boys, one girl. Scar's children. His mission.The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of students laughing somewhere outside. His roommate hadn't returned yet, which was good. David needed this time alone to think.He picked up the first photo. Miller. The eldest son. Business student, third year. Tall, broad-shouldered, confident. The kind of guy who probably had friends everywhere and never struggled to fit in. The kind of guy who had women flocking around him like moths to a flame.The second photo. Mikel. The younger son. Also business, also third year. Softer features, quieter eyes. He looked like the type who followed his older brother around, letting him lead.The third photo. Catherine. The only daughter. Law student, second year. Beautiful, with her father's sharp jawline but her mother's gentle eyes. She wa
CHAPTER 29:
As early as 9:00 am, a black SUV drove to the gate of Darlington University. Inside it was a man, a woman, and a young boy of twenty-two. The man was dressed in a suit, the woman in a formal gown, and the boy wore casual clothes—jeans, a hoodie, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked like any other freshman arriving for the semester.They stopped at the gate for a security search. The guards were professional, checking under the car, opening the trunk, scanning the inside with flashlights. The man handed over their ID cards, and the woman smiled politely. The guards verified the documents on a tablet, nodded, and waved them through."Welcome to Darlington University," one guard said.They drove slowly through the campus. The place was beautiful—green lawns, old brick buildings, students walking in groups, laughing, talking on their phones. The boy watched everything through the window, memorizing the layout, the paths, the security cameras posted on every corner.They went to t
CHAPTER 28.
That night none of them rested. Raj and his hackers were in the red room working throughout to find valuable informations before the next morning and the chappatti officials never left them. They were serious about Andrew getting justice for his father. Not just because he was their leader but also because Mr. Chappatti was also their leader and they demanded justice for him. The red room was alive with the sound of keyboards clicking and voices murmuring, everyone focused on one goal—finding Scar.Andrew on the other hand wasn't present all through with them at the red room but he didn't drive home straight. He had driven far to his parents grave. His mom and dad were buried beside each other in a small cemetery on the outskirts of the city, a quiet place surrounded by old trees and tall grass. No one came here anymore except the wind and the birds.On his hand was a flower. A single red rose, the kind his mother used to love when she was alive. He had long avoided this place since h
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