The Mafia Queen's Obsession

Part 7

Ayla slammed the door shut behind her, the sound echoing through her apartment as she leaned against it for a moment, taking deep breaths. 

The weight of the night settled heavily on her shoulders. 

The club, the music, the lights—none of it mattered anymore. 

All that mattered was what had happened with Selene.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she pulled off her heels, the echo of Selene's presence still lingering in her skin. 

The woman's touch, the heat of her words—they'd dug under Ayla's skin in a way she wasn't used to. 

She wasn't just some journalist caught in a story. 

Selene had made sure of that.

Ayla moved to her couch and collapsed onto it, pulling her knees up to her chest as she wrapped her arms tightly around them. 

Her mind raced, replaying the encounter over and over again—the way Selene had pinned her against the wall, how she'd been so close, so impossibly confident. 

And the words. 

The way Selene had looked at her, almost as if she was seeing through her, dissecting every layer with just a glance.

She closed her eyes, trying to shake the feeling of being trapped. 

There had been something so effortlessly dangerous about Selene. 

It was like she had this magnetic pull, something Ayla couldn't ignore even if she wanted to.

This is not just a story, she thought. 

This is something else.

She let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions crashing through her. 

There had been fear—real fear. 

Fear she wasn't accustomed to. 

Ayla had always prided herself on being in control, always thinking five steps ahead. But with Selene, it had felt like she was the one being hunted. And worse, she hadn't known if she wanted to escape it or let it consume her.

"Get a grip, Ayla," she muttered to herself, trying to steady her mind. She couldn't let herself get caught up in whatever this was. 

She was there to investigate, to find something that would take the Morettis down.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Selene Moretti wasn't like anyone she'd ever encountered before. 

She didn't just break rules—she rewrote them. 

And that realization gnawed at Ayla, leaving a strange knot in her stomach.

The silence of her apartment felt suffocating. 

She needed to do something, anything to shake off the feeling of being on edge. But what? 

She wasn't sure how much of this was fear and how much was something else—something she didn't quite understand yet.

Alya reached for her phone, but hesitated. 

She wanted to reach out to someone, but who could understand what she was going through? 

This wasn't just a story—it was Selene. 

A woman who seemed to have the power to twist reality with a single glance, a smile.

She leaned back, letting her head rest against the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

I'm not scared of her, she tried to convince herself. 

But the voice that echoed back inside her mind didn't sound so sure.

She'd been right about one thing—Selene Moretti was different. 

And Ayla had a feeling that this game was only just beginning.

Ayla sat at her desk, the soft glow of the laptop screen the only light in her dark apartment.

 Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She knew she was stepping into dangerous territory, but this was different. 

The Morettis were bad enough, but what she had just uncovered about the task force? That was a game-changer. She had known the risks when she'd started investigating Selene and her family—the dark underworld, the mafia connections, the power that went beyond the law. 

But what Ayla hadn't anticipated was the task force lurking in the shadows, more dangerous than anything she'd ever encountered. 

This wasn't just about exposing the mafia anymore. 

It was about surviving.

She'd made the choice to dig deeper, to venture into places where most journalists feared to tread. And now, it seemed, her curiosity had caught the attention of something far more dangerous than the Moretti family. 

She had accessed the dark web, using her knowledge of cybersecurity to slip past the usual barriers and find the hidden corners where the underworld's secrets festered. 

She searched for any trace of the task force, anything that would explain who they were and what they wanted.

What she found was enough to make her blood run cold.

The task force didn't just eliminate criminals—they silenced anyone who got too close. Journalists, informants, whistleblowers—they didn't care about justice, about the truth.

 Their mission was simple: to erase anyone who could expose their operations, to bury anything that threatened their power. 

They operated in the shadows, with no official recognition, no oversight. And Ayla's investigation? It had put her squarely on their radar.

Her name appeared in countless forums and encrypted chats, buried beneath layers of code, but unmistakably linked to the files she'd accessed. 

The task force wasn't just a faceless group—they had eyes, and those eyes were now fixed on her.

Alya felt her chest tighten as she stared at the screen. 

She had known the risk of exposing the Morettis, but she hadn't realized just how far-reaching their influence went. 

This wasn't just about mafia families or power struggles anymore. 

It was a war being waged in the dark, one that she had unwittingly stepped into.

Her phone buzzed beside her, but she didn't move to pick it up. 

The weight of the situation was too heavy for a casual distraction.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her thoughts swirling. 

She wasn't just a journalist anymore. 

She was a target. 

The task force had a reputation for making people disappear without a trace. They weren't just an obstacle—they were a deadly force that didn't care about the law, about ethics, or about who they had to destroy to get what they wanted.

And now Ayla was in their sights.

The thought made her stomach churn.