Lahat ng Kabanata ng When the Fool Heals the Mafia: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

The sound in her earpiece crackled softly as Cristy’s voice came through, low and clipped.“Amara, Ayah and Dina are looking for you. They’re heading your way.”Amara blinked once, her fingers brushing the hem of her silk dress as if she’d just woken from a dream. The night air around the garden terrace was cooler now, scented faintly with lemon blossoms and expensive perfume drifting in from the open ballroom doors. Fairy lights glittered overhead, strung like constellations, and laughter echoed in bursts from inside polished, practiced, a ballroom full of people pretending they weren’t hunting each other with smiles.She didn’t wait for Zogo to speak. Not for a word, not for a breath. She simply turned on her heel and walked back toward the glow of the party, letting the noise swallow her again.Letting him sit in the storm she’d left behind.Inside, the ballroom pulled with orchestrated elegance. Gold-rimmed glasses clinked, violins hummed under soft conversation, and chandeliers c

Zogo’s POVThe chandelier above glittered like a thousand fake stars.....too perfect, too distant, too cold.It caught every edge of movement below.....every swirl of champagne, every whisper behind fans and flutes, every hungry glance tucked behind polite laughter. But Zogo didn’t care for the lights or the noise. Not tonight.The moment Amara walked away, something left with her.Not just the chaos she stirred but the quiet interest that had curled like smoke in Zogo’s chest. She moved like an afterthought, but her silence had weight. Precision. She had disrupted something. Shifted the room’s center of gravity. And he hadn’t looked away until she disappeared through those towering double doors, leaving only the soft echo of her steps.He didn’t follow.He stayed.Still as a shadow, posted near the floor-to-ceiling windows, the deep navy velvet curtains absorbing half his frame like a ghost caught mid-fade. One hand loose at his side, the other holding a glass he hadn’t even touched.

Damian stirred his black coffee once, twice, then set the gold spoon down with the same care he used to dismantle men. The leather seat of the luxury SUV adjusted slightly as the car bumped along the quiet provincial road, the early light catching in flashes through the tinted windows.Across from him, Alex, his right-hand man, sat with his tablet balanced on one knee, but Damian’s eyes were on his phone, cradled in one gloved hand. The countryside began to change with small farms, then larger buildings. The city’s edge loomed ahead.The screen glowed.Incoming Feed: Internal Territory Transfer – Confirmed.Signed by: Arturo Regalado.Recipient: Zogo Walton.Damian’s thumb hovered above the screen.Silence stretched thick inside the car.“Sir,” Alex said quietly, glancing at his own synced device.“It’s confirmed. The signature’s verified. The handover was filed thirty-six minutes ago.”Damian leaned his head against the leather rest, his tone calm but thinner than usual.“He signed…”

1:52 PM — Hidden District, Old QuarterGracelane #17The front of the address was nothing but a row of crumbling brick apartments. Narrow alleyways stretched like veins between the buildings, filled with tangled laundry lines, stray cats sunbathing on metal roofs, and barefoot children chasing old plastic bottles. It was a place no Musk heir should belong. A place even Zogo’s network had ignored intentionally or not.But behind a chipped green door, under a rusted sign that read MG Tailoring (Closed), was a narrow staircase.And beyond that?A café.Quiet. Dim. Full of mismatched chairs and the scent of roasted beans and old books. The walls were lined with sepia-toned photos of strangers—once somebody, now nobody. No questions were asked here. Half the city’s ghosts came to this place to breathe, to vanish, to wait.Zogo stepped inside alone.Outside, Finn, Jerald, and Brook remained near the car, alert but silent.He moved through the café like a shadow.....calculated and cold. No on

The night had folded itself in quiet shadows as Amara sat alone in her room, the light from the chandelier above her bed flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay or fade. She was halfway through untying the ribbon from her dress when a knock echoed from the door three sharp taps.She straightened, the tension behind her eyes returning like a tide she never quite escaped.Crossing the room, she opened the door slowly.Aston, the Musk family butler, stood like a silent monument in the hallway, his white gloves folded neatly in front of him, eyes unreadable but always respectful.“Miss Amara,” he said with a slight bow of his head.“The Master requests your presence in the study.”Her heart gave the smallest jolt.“Now?” she asked, glancing at the clock on the far wall.“He said it was important.”She nodded once and followed him, her slippers quiet on the marble floors as they made their way through the long hallway of the Musk estate. The night was hushed, save for the occasi