CHAPTER SEVENTY--ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY--ONE
In one of the private lounges at the casino, Don Ravano and his companions were soaked in sweat. The taste of the strong liquor they’d been drinking had turned bitter on their tongues.
“I told you not to provoke him. Look at the mess you’ve stirred,” one of Ravano’s associates, Steven, scolded. Steven was a member of the mafia but far below Ravano’s rank.
Ravano reached for a cigar, attempting a facade of courage, lighting the tip and inhaling slowly. Despite his effort, the earlier scare—the near-fatal sniper attack on Don Thorne—made him tremble, causing the glass of liquor in his hand to slip and shatter on the ironbark floor.
“What’s there to fear? He’s just a young man. Still… I’ll leave for now. But keep an eye on that girl. She’s too valuable to let go,” he muttered, standing and moving toward the lounge’s exit. Every step carried the weight of unease; the cold, calculated danger that exuded from Thorne was unforgettable.
“You’re right, we should retreat,” Eric, another of Ravano’s men, said, rising. The three men moved toward the casino doors, weaving through crowds of patrons drinking, gambling, and laughing.
As soon as they neared the gate, the bodyguards approached, their expressions firm. “Sorry, gentlemen. Investigations are underway.”
Ravano’s pulse quickened. “Investigations? Let me out now,” he demanded, voice sharp, but the bouncers ignored him. Even his own men weren’t allowed past the threshold.
This establishment catered only to the ultra-wealthy and mafia dons. No matter their rank, all bodyguards were required to remain outside, and no weapons were permitted inside—a precaution to prevent chaos.
“We act strictly on orders,” one bouncer said.
“Whose orders?” Ravano pressed.
“Don Thorne. He owns this casino.”
Ravano’s face drained of color. “Thorne owns this casino?” he murmured in disbelief. After years of hiding, he had no idea how thoroughly Thorne’s influence had expanded across Duskwatch City.
“You heard correctly,” the bouncer confirmed.
Ravano returned to the lounge with his associates, anxiety overtaking him. Thorne was not just rich—he was one of the most formidable, respected dons in the world. Owning a multibillion-dollar casino meant his power extended far beyond ordinary underworld reach.
Ravano’s mind raced. The locked doors, the investigations—it all pointed to Thorne personally orchestrating this containment. Survival suddenly felt uncertain.
He grabbed his phone, dialing the number of the mafia king he’d long depended upon. “I need advice… I’m trapped in Thorne’s casino. He won’t let me out,” he confided, omitting details of the sniper attack to gain sympathy.
“You must have provoked him,” the king, Caloy, remarked. Despite his apparent age, he carried an aura of intimidation—save for one man: Thorne.
Ravano narrated without shame, “I had a sniper target his car. He jumped clear before the explosion, so he should be fine.”
Caloy sighed, unconcerned with Ravano’s audacity. “You’ve been away too long. Before angering Thorne, you should have gauged his strength. That man is death incarnate; you cannot oppose him lightly. I cannot intervene this time.”
“Hello?” Ravano’s line had gone dead. Pale and sweating, he realized the precariousness of his position.
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Meanwhile, in the secretary’s office of Obsidian Hall Offices, Riseh addressed the young woman sitting in the visitor’s chair. “Miss James, you may proceed inside.”
Elowen’s curiosity flared. She glanced around, not having seen anyone enter or leave. “Is he here? Where did he go?”
Riseh rolled her eyes. “And you said you were in a hurry? My boss has another entrance to his office.”
Elowen nodded, grabbing her handbag. She paused at the door, about to knock, when Riseh said, “No knocking. Just enter and take a seat.”
Don Thorne had just arrived, washed up after sprinting to the office. Clothes at the office had saved him from returning home exhausted.
Elowen stepped into the room, nerves rising. The man dressed in black was engrossed in reviewing documents, emanating a no-nonsense aura. He didn’t acknowledge her immediately as she sat across from him.
“How long were you employed by the Pozos?” he asked, still focused on the papers. The Pozos were tied to Don Ravano’s operations.
“Three years, sir,” Elowen answered honestly, confusion twisting in her stomach.
“Then why isn’t it reflected here?” Thorne’s tone carried the weight of command, his eyes still scanning the document.
“It… it is,” she stammered. She didn’t understand what he meant, yet Thorne’s stoicism remained unshaken. He slid the file toward her before lifting his gaze, finally meeting her eyes.
Her resemblance to Lisa, a memory from Thorne’s past, caused a flash of bittersweet reflection. Flushing slightly, Elowen realized this wasn’t the CV she’d submitted; it seemed Thorne had sourced detailed intelligence on her independently.
“Did you accomplish everything listed here?” Thorne’s gaze bore into her, and Elowen’s heart pounded violently. How could he have obtained such specifics? The document detailed more than what had been provided to HR, as if he knew her history intimately.