𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔞 𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔢

Chapter 20~His Game

Donatella POV:

The glow of my computer screen was the only light in my room, casting a faint blue hue over my skin. The rest of the castle was dark-quiet, eerie, peaceful, if you were the kind of person who found peace in silence.

I wasn't.
Silence made my thoughts louder.

My legs were tucked under me on the velvet desk chair, a hoodie thrown over my head, face lit by open tabs, one after the other, all leading to dead ends. Fake links. Corrupted PDFs. Mysterious 404 errors where information should've been. I clicked again. Nothing. Again. Dead link. Again. Blocked source.

I dragged a hand over my face. "Oh my god," I muttered. "I've hacked into five private networks tonight, and the only thing I've learned is that someone out there is doing a really good job at making sure I don't learn anything."

Beside me, Amir was on the floor with his own laptop, earbuds in, chewing his hoodie string like a stressed-out hamster. "Because we're being blocked. They're scrubbing every mention. Every trace. Someone doesn't want anyone finding this dude."

I rubbed my temples. "Yeah, well, I'm not 'anyone.' I'm me. And I have trauma and vengeance on my side. That's like... two cheat codes."

I tried a new database-deep web, French security intel, a folder marked Roses de Sang. I clicked. Loaded. And then-

"YOU HAVE BEEN DISCONNECTED."

I screamed and slammed my laptop shut. "I swear on everything I love, the next time I see a glitchy error screen, I'm going to throw this MacBook into a volcano."

Amir didn't even flinch. "Same. Except mine's not paid off yet, so I'll just cry in installments."

I got up and started pacing the room. My bare feet barely made a sound against the marble floors, but my thoughts were thundering. The same thought that had haunted me since I got here. Since the masks. Since the incident.

He was still out there.

The one Amir and I hadn't been able to kill.

HIM.

Nobody knew his real name.

No trace of him. No birth records. No photos that weren't heavily distorted or glitched. Not even a nickname that gave away a clue. Just the stories.

The boogeyman of the French mafia. The Don.

"You'd think a guy with that many bodies would be easier to track," I hissed, flopping back on the bed.

"You'd think a guy who blew up an entire city before his disappearance would leave traces," Amir muttered. "But here we are."

I stared at the ceiling, mind spiraling. "Do you ever wonder if we're the crazy ones? Like... are we even normal teenagers anymore?"

Amir looked up from his laptop. "You're in a mafia castle. We're 17 and the best assassins in the world. We've killed our first person at 6 years old. We've been kidnapped. We are not normal teenagers."

I sighed. Deep. Heavy. Tired.

"I just want to find him," I whispered. "I want him to know we're not done. That we're still coming for him. For what he did."

Amir's voice softened. "I know."

"I want to rip the smug out of his face."

"I know."

"I want to break his fingers one by one and then throw him off a Parisian rooftop while sipping a latte and listening to Edith Piaf."

Amir blinked. "Okay, wow. That was... a whole visual. You've really thought this through."

I closed my eyes. "Every night. I dream of it. And not the pretty, Pinterest-y revenge. No, I want the ugly kind. The violent kind. The kind you scream about in therapy."

"...Do we have therapy?"

I paused. "No. But if we survive this, we probably should."

He nodded. "Group rates?"

I rolled over and stared at my laptop. Then-against my better judgment-I opened it again. I stared at the blinking cursor. The empty search bar.

I typed in:

Whereabouts from French mafia leader

No results.

Then:

Roses de Sang surviving members

Blocked.

Then:

Assassin twins Angela della morte and Morte Nero

I froze.

One result.

My heartbeat spiked.

I clicked the link to the Underworld website.

And there it was.

A photo.

Grainy. Blurry. But me. And Amir. In the suits. In the masks. Backs turned. But recognizable if someone really looked.

And underneath it:

"Still alive. Still hunting. Ghosts, indeed."

I slammed the laptop shut again.

Amir looked up. "What. What happened. Why do you look like you saw a ghost-"

I tossed him the laptop.

He opened it.

Saw the photo.

His jaw dropped.

"Nope. Nope. This is how horror movies start. Nope, I'm calling a priest."

"Why?" I said, gripping the edge of the bed. "So he can bless the Wi-Fi? That doesn't help."

He groaned. "He knows. He's taunting us."

I swallowed. "Then he's watching."

We both sat there. In silence.

Then Amir said, "Well... at least we're famous?"

I picked up a pillow and threw it directly at his face.

He fell off the bed in a pile of limbs and fear.

But even through the panic... even through the nerves and fury and frustration...

I smiled.

Because now it was personal.

He wanted to play games?

Fine.

I'd play.