The mafias Angel

Episode Three

Chapter Three

Samantha’s POV

The silence after his words pressed on me like a weight I couldn’t shake off. Inspector Cole hadn’t answered my question in the yard, but when he finally called me into his office that evening, I knew—this was it. This was the moment my life had been dragging me toward all these years.

His office smelled of old paper and burnt coffee. Files stacked high on the desk, crime maps pinned across the walls with red strings running from one picture to another. Each one represented cases, names, blood. But my eyes didn’t wander. They stayed on him.

He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight, his eyes studying me as though he was peeling away layers. The shadows of the blinds striped across his face, making him look older, sharper.

“Sit,” he said.

I obeyed, though my body was coiled tight, ready for whatever came next.

He folded his hands over the desk. “You asked earlier who your target is. I didn’t answer because I needed to be sure you understood what this means. The moment I tell you this name, your life will not be the same. You will either rise from it… or burn in it.”

My heart pounded. “I can handle it, sir.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe differently. He just said the name.

“Bruno.”

The word seemed small, but it filled the room, echoing in my chest like thunder.

Bruno. The untouchable. The shadow of the underworld. I had heard that name whispered in the alleys, written on the lips of men too scared to speak it aloud. He was said to own half the city—nightclubs, gun routes, drug lines, even politicians. A man everyone wanted to catch, yet no one dared to touch.

I stared at Cole. “You want me to spy on Bruno?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “You will go in as one of them. You will gain his trust, feed us what he says, what he plans, who he deals with. Piece by piece, we will build a net around him until it tightens.”

I swallowed hard. Spying on pickpockets in a market was one thing. Infiltrating the most feared mafia king in the country was another.

“Sir…” My voice was steady, though my stomach twisted. “You said it yourself. He’s untouchable. No cop has gotten close.”

“That’s why it has to be you.” His eyes drilled into mine. “You’re young. You’re sharp. You can change your face, your voice, your walk. You’ve proven it in every mission. They won’t suspect you. They’ll see you as no threat. And that’s exactly why you are one.”

I drew in a slow breath. I knew what he was saying was true. But another question burned inside me. “Why him? Why now?”

For the first time, Cole leaned forward. His voice lowered, rough as gravel. “Because every road we follow leads to him. Drugs in the schools. Guns in the streets. Bodies in the river. All of it ties back to Bruno. But no one has been able to pin him down. He doesn’t touch the crimes himself—he orders, hides, pays. We need someone inside. That someone is you.”

I clenched my fists in my lap, my nails biting into my skin. I had asked for this. I had begged for a chance to rise. And now here it was, staring me in the face.

Still, I asked, “And if I refuse?”

Cole’s silence was heavier than words. At last, he said, “Then you stay a shadow. Always behind. Always looking in but never holding power. Is that what you want, Samantha?”

I shook my head. No. That wasn’t what I wanted. I hadn’t bled and broken myself for years just to remain invisible. I wanted justice. I wanted revenge.

And then, like a spark catching flame, his name pulled something out of my memory. Bruno. I had heard it before. Not in the streets. Not in the market. But long ago—hidden in the voices that haunted my nightmares.

I was seven again. I was under the glass table, trembling, my parents’ blood running across the floor. The man above them laughed, sneered, spit. And one voice, deep and commanding, had called out a name.

“Leave it. Bruno’s men will handle the rest.”

Bruno’s men.

The little boy that slapped my mom.

I froze. My chest tightened, my breath trapped in my throat.

I looked at Cole, my voice a whisper, rough as sandpaper. “Sir… who is Bruno’s father?”

Cole hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was enough. He knew. He had always known.

Finally, he answered, “The Don. The dead mafia king. The man who ruled the streets before Bruno.”

The room tilted slightly. My palms went cold. The Don. The man who had ordered my family’s s*******r. The man whose boots had walked through my childhood blood.

And Bruno—his son.

I gripped the edge of the chair until my knuckles turned white. Fate wasn’t giving me a mission. It was throwing me straight into the fire that had burned me since I was a child.

Cole’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Do you know what this means?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “It means I finally get close.”

The taste of iron filled my mouth again, the memory of the warehouse beating fresh in my bones. But this was different. This wasn’t just survival anymore. This was destiny.

I stood slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Cole didn’t look surprised. Almost as if he had known what my answer would be. He leaned back again, nodding once. “Then prepare yourself. Tonight you rest. Tomorrow, we begin shaping your cover. Who you are, where you come from, why you’re stepping into Bruno’s world. Every detail must be flawless. One c***k, one slip, and you’re dead.”

Dead.

The word didn’t frighten me. I had been living with death my whole life. What frightened me was the thought of walking into the arms of the son of the man who killed everything I loved… and having to smile.

“Understood,” I said.

He dismissed me with a flick of his hand, already pulling another file from the pile. But I didn’t leave right away. I stayed for a second longer, my gaze on the wall where the red strings crossed over mugshots, names, places. And there, in the center of it all, was a photo of him.

Bruno.

Dark hair slicked back. A scar running from his temple to his cheek. His eyes sharp, cold, like a predator who knew the world belonged to him. And very handsome.

I forced myself to look at it without flinching. That face would soon be inches from mine. I would have to lie to it, smile at it, maybe even earn its trust. The thought made my stomach churn, but I set my jaw.

I walked out of the office, each step heavy with the weight of what I had agreed to. The halls of the station buzzed with the usual chatter, phones ringing, officers laughing. To me, the noise faded into a blur. I felt as if I was walking alone through a tunnel, the end far away, dark, and waiting.

That night, in my small apartment, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the knife I kept hidden under the pillow. My hands shook, but not from fear. From hunger. Hunger for the justice I had been denied for so long.

I closed my eyes, and the memories came again—my father’s last shout, my mother’s broken cry. And then the voice: “Bruno’s men will handle the rest.”

Now, years later, Bruno wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a king. And I was walking into his kingdom.

I opened my eyes, gripping the knife tighter. Tomorrow the first step would begin. Tomorrow, I would start shaping the lie that would carry me straight to him.

But tonight, I let myself whisper into the dark, a promise only I could hear.

“I’m coming for you, Bruno. For you… and for your father’s sins.”

The room swallowed my words, but my heart burned with them.

And as the city outside roared with life, I knew one thing with absolute certainty—this mission wasn’t just my test to become a detective.

It was the doorway to the revenge I had been chas

ing all my life.

Only one question haunted me as I lay back, eyes open, the ceiling cracked and silent above me: