THE MAFIA'S KITTEN

EPISODE 11: THE SHADOW IN THE VAULT

The ride back from the club was silent, the tension inside the armored SUV thick enough to choke on. Diana stared out at the rain-streaked window, watching the neon lights of Lagos blur into long, colorful smears. She could feel the eyes of the two guards on the back of her neck. They didn’t trust her, and after the stunt she’d pulled in the club, she didn’t blame them. Her mind kept racing back to the paper she’d glimpsed in Dante’s private study—a document stamped with a seal she hadn't seen since she was a child.

When they arrived at the mansion, Dante was waiting in the foyer. He was dressed in a dark silk robe, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look angry, but his silence was more terrifying than a shout. He watched her walk through the door, his eyes trailing over her with a strange intensity that made her skin prickle.

"You're late," he said, his voice low and raspy.

"The club was crowded, sir," Diana replied, her voice steady even though her heart was hammering. She walked past him, hoping he wouldn't smell the scent of Antonio’s tobacco on her clothes.

"Is that all?" Dante asked. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm as she passed. It wasn't a grab; it was a soft, lingering touch that made her stop in her tracks. He stepped closer, his scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco wrapping around her. He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. "You seem jumpy. Like a cat that’s been out in the rain too long."

"I'm just tired," she whispered, refusing to look at him. If she looked at him, she was afraid he’d see the lie.

"Go to bed, Diana," he said, his voice softening in a way that confused her. "We have a long day tomorrow. I'm taking you to the docks. I want you to see how a real empire is run."

Diana nodded and hurried up the stairs, but she didn't go to her room. Once she heard his heavy footsteps retreat toward his own wing, she slipped back down the hallway toward his study. She knew the guards changed shifts at exactly 3:00 AM, giving her a three-minute window.

She slipped into the office, the room smelling of old books and power. She didn't turn on the lights. Using a small penlight, she moved toward the heavy mahogany desk. She wasn't looking for money or gun permits this time. She was looking for the blue folder she had seen earlier that week.

Her fingers found it at the bottom of a locked drawer she had picked earlier. She opened it, her breath hitching. Inside was a birth certificate and a series of adoption papers from twenty years ago. The name on the certificate wasn't Dante’s, and it wasn't a name she recognized—but the signature at the bottom of the witness line belonged to the one man she thought she could trust: Antonio.

The papers linked the Night Owl Organisation to the very foundations of Dante’s empire. It suggested that the war between them wasn't a war of enemies, but a carefully choreographed dance.

Suddenly, the floorboard behind her creaked.

Diana froze, her hand flying to the hidden pocket in her dress where she kept a sharpened hairpin. She didn't turn around. She didn't even breathe.

"Looking for bedtime reading?" Dante’s voice came from the darkness.

She felt the cold click of a gun being c****d against the back of her head. But unlike before, his hand on her shoulder wasn't rough. It was trembling, just a fraction.

"I told you once, Diana," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Curiosity gets people killed. Now, tell me... why is my name in a folder signed by the man who raised you?"

**TBC...**