The mafias Angel

Episode two

Chapter Two

Samantha's pov

The girl who had hid under a table and watched her parents die was gone.

I had turned my pain into stone. Every memory of blood, every slap from my uncle, every insult from my aunt, every hunger I endured had hardened me. My heart no longer cried like it used to. I lived for one thing now—revenge.

I had joined the police force young, taking the lowest rank they offered me. Not as a detective, not as a full cop, but as a spy officer. To the world, that position looked small, like a shadow beneath the real force. But I knew better. Spies were the unseen eyes. We gathered the secrets that broke cases wide open. We were the ones who walked into danger without anyone clapping for us.

And for me, being a spy was the only path to where I needed to be.

Detectives got the bigger cases. Detectives had the power to chase the kind of men who had murdered my parents. If I wanted to stand in front of them one day and look them in the eye before breaking them down, I needed that badge.

So I worked. Harder than anyone else.

Training was painful. Running until my lungs burned. Fighting until my arms ached. Learning to slip into crowds unseen, learning to blend in, learning to listen. I had learned to put on any face, wear any voice. A poor beggar one day, a street seller the next. Each mission had tested me, chipped away the soft girl inside me, leaving only the sharp edges.

I remember my last mission,that night almost brought an end to my life.

The night smelled of smoke and sweat. I had followed the man for two days, watching him move through the crowded markets, slip into dark alleys, and whisper with men who carried knives hidden under their coats. My job was simple—get close, listen, and bring back evidence against them.

But nothing ever stayed simple.

I had just reached the corner of an abandoned warehouse when the first hand grabbed me. I spun, but another man was already there. Rough fingers twisted my arm behind my back, and a heavy fist struck my stomach. The air shot out of me. I bit back a cry.

“Little spy,” one of them hissed in my ear. “You think we don’t see you?”

They dragged me into the warehouse. My boots scraped the floor as I tried to fight, but they were stronger, bigger. They threw me down, and my knees slammed into the concrete. Pain flashed white. Still, I lifted my head.

One of them kicked me hard across the face. Blood filled my mouth, warm and bitter. The taste reminded me of another night—years ago—the night I hid in the tall glass table, watching my parents fall under fists and boots. My mother’s scream. My father’s last breath. That memory did not break me anymore. It made me cold.

“Kill her?” one of the men asked.

The leader crouched down, his shadow stretching across my face. He smiled, a yellow-toothed grin. “No. Let’s teach her a lesson first.”

The beating started slow, then cruel. A fist to my ribs. A boot to my back. My head cracked against the floor. Each blow sent pain burning through me, but I refused to scream. I would not give them the pleasure.

They wanted fear. They would get nothing.

When one man leaned too close, laughing in my face, I spat blood at him. His laugh turned to rage, and he raised his knife. The blade flashed above me.

I did not flinch.

Maybe death would come now, but I had already met it once before, the night I saw my parents die. If it came again, I would face it standing.

But fate was not ready to take me. At the sound of police sirens outside, the men cursed and ran. Heavy boots pounded against the ground as they fled. The knife clattered to the floor beside me, useless now.

I lay there, my body screaming, but my heart steady. I pulled myself up with shaking hands. My vision blurred, but I was still alive.

Alive meant I could still fight. Alive meant revenge was still mine to take.

And as I limped out of the warehouse, blood running down my cheek, I swore again—I would never fear pain, never fear death. I had survived worse.

And now, all of it came down to this.

One last test.

If I passed it, I would no longer be a shadow in the force. I would be a detective, free to hunt the truth that haunted my nights.

---

That morning, I stood in the dusty yard behind the station, dressed in plain clothes. Around me, the city was alive with its usual noise—cars honking, traders shouting, footsteps rushing. But inside me, everything was quiet, sharp, waiting.

My senior officer, Inspector Cole, stepped out of the building. His face was hard, lined from years of chasing criminals. He was a man who never smiled, never wasted words. His eyes swept over me as if weighing me again, testing me even before the test.

“You’ve done well so far,” he said. His voice was deep, steady. “You’ve gone into places others wouldn’t dare. You’ve brought back reports that solved cases. But you know the rules. A spy cannot remain a spy forever. You either rise… or you fall.”

“I’m ready to rise, sir,” I said, my voice firm.

He looked at me for a long moment, as if searching my eyes for weakness. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he gave a slow nod.

“Good,” he said. “Your final test begins tonight.”

My chest tightened. I had waited for this moment for years, but now that it was here, it felt heavier than I imagined.

“What’s the mission, sir?” I asked.

“You’ll be going deeper than before. More dangerous than anything you’ve faced.” His tone was calm, but his words carried weight. “If you succeed, you’ll be made a detective. If you fail…” He let the words hang, unfinished, but I understood. Failure meant I might not return.

I didn’t flinch. I had stared at death before. I had lived with it since I was seven.

“I accept, sir.”

He gave me a long, unreadable look. “Bravery is not enough. You’ll need patience. Silence. Eyes sharper than a hawk’s. If your cover breaks, we cannot save you. Remember that.”

The wind stirred dust between us. My hands clenched at my sides, steady.

“Who am I spying on this time?” I asked.

Inspector Cole’s face did not change. But he did not answer.

I repeated the question, my voice firm. “Sir, who is the target?”

Still, silence. He only turned his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, his figure hard against the sunlight.

The air around me grew heavier. Why wouldn’t he answer?

My heart beat faster, but I kept my face calm. I knew one thing—if the inspector wouldn’t speak, it meant the target was someone powerful

. Someone dangerous.

And whoever it was… could be tied to the night my parents were taken from me.