The Betrayed Mafia’s Heir Chapter 16

Posted by Author, ? Views, Released on May 2, 2025

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Celeste rolled behind a ventilation unit, her shoulder burning where a bullet had grazed her earlier. Across the rooftop, Stephan was pinned down behind a low wall, three attackers advancing on his position.
Without thinking, she stood and fired twice. The first shot caught one attacker in the chest; the second sent another diving for cover.
Stephan used the distraction to take out the third, his movements perfectly timed with hers.
“Eight o’clock!” he shouted. Celeste dropped and rolled as bullets peppered the spot where she’d been standing.
She came up firing, feeling Stephan move to cover her blind spot without needing to look. They’d always been lethal together—that was part of the problem.
More attackers poured onto the roof from both fire escapes. The air filled with the acrid smell of cordite and the metallic tang of blood.
Celeste counted their remaining ammunition in her head: two magazines each, maybe thirty rounds total.
Not enough for a prolonged fight.
“We need an exit,” she called out, ducking behind an air conditioning unit.
Stephan appeared beside her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Service door, east side. Leads to the maintenance stairwell.”
“Too obvious. They’ll be waiting—”
A grenade arced through the air, landing between them and their attackers.
“Move!” Stephan grabbed her arm, and they sprinted toward the edge of the roof as the explosion rocked the building.
The blast wave caught them, throwing them forward. Celeste felt Stephan’s arms wrap around her as they hit the ground, his body shielding hers from the rain of debris.
For a moment, the world was nothing but ringing ears and the solid warmth of him against her back. Then reality crashed back in with the sound of approaching footsteps.
They scrambled up together, clothes torn and dirty, adrenaline singing through their veins. The explosion had created a smoke screen—their chance to escape.
“This way,” Celeste hissed, spotting a maintenance ladder partially hidden behind a billboard.
They descended rapidly, the metal rungs slick with evening dew. Above them, voices shouted in confusion, trying to locate their targets through the smoke.
Celeste’s feet hit the alley pavement just as a bullet sparked off the ladder near her head. Stephan landed beside her, and they ran.
The narrow alley twisted through the heart of the city’s old district, where buildings pressed close together and shadows grew thick between streetlights. They took turns at random, trying to break any pursuit.
Suddenly, Stephan’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He pulled her into a recessed doorway, the space barely wide enough for both of them.
Their breathing echoed harsh in the confined space as footsteps thundered past their hiding spot.
They waited until the sound faded, but Stephan didn’t release her wrist. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was implacable—like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.
“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and rough from the smoke. “Did you plan this?”
“If I wanted you dead,” Celeste yanked her wrist free, anger flaring hot in her chest, “you wouldn’t be standing.”
His jaw clenched, muscles working beneath stubbled skin. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The way he looked at her then—too intense, too raw—made her chest tighten. His eyes dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, and the air between them became charged with something that had nothing to do with danger.
They were standing too close. The doorway suddenly felt smaller, the darkness thicker. Celeste could see a smudge of soot on his cheekbone, could smell gunpowder and expensive cologne and beneath it all, something uniquely him that she’d never quite forgotten.
“Stephan—” she started, not sure if she was going to push him away or pull him closer.
His phone buzzed, sharp and insistent in the quiet. Dante’s name lit up the screen.
The moment shattered. Stephan answered, his free hand still braced against the wall beside her head. “What is it?”
Celeste watched his expression change as he listened—saw the moment whatever Dante was saying hit home. His face went completely still, the way it did when he was processing something terrible.
“Say that again,” he ordered, his voice deadly quiet.
She couldn’t hear Dante’s response, but she saw how it affected Stephan. His shoulders tensed, his hand curled into a fist against the wall.