جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 130

The council chamber still stank of smoke and blood when Isabella entered.She wore black silk, her veil trailing like a funeral shroud, but her presence was no mourner’s. She glided across the ruined floor where Damian’s blade had spilled lives, her heels clicking against the stained marble.The elders muttered in unease, some still clutching rosaries, others too shaken to meet her eyes.“You see?” Isabella’s voice sliced through the silence, smooth and sharp. “The wolf has betrayed you. He has abandoned his oath, murdered your guards, mocked your authority. And for what?” She gestured elegantly to the scorched brazier. “For a woman who should have been ash.”An elder cleared his throat nervously. “Damian is powerful, Isabella. Too powerful to oppose without consequence. If we push him, the clans may fracture.”Isabella smiled thinly. “Then we don’t push. We pull. We let him run, let him bleed himself dry protecting her. And when he’s weakest—when love has blinded him—then we strike.”

The sound still rang in Adriana’s ears, deafening, swallowing everything else.Smoke curled in the air.Damian staggered back, his pistol still raised. Blood dripped down his arm from the earlier wound, but his eyes weren’t on his pain—they were locked on Marco.Marco stood frozen in the doorway, gun still aimed, his chest rising and falling in jagged breaths. For a heartbeat, it seemed as if time itself held still.Adriana touched her side, expecting fire, expecting pain. Nothing. Her hands trembled. She was alive.And then her gaze fell lower.Blood. Not hers.One of the hunters lay sprawled across the floor, bullet hole through his skull. Marco’s shot had missed its mark—or perhaps, at the very last second, his hands had shaken.The hesitation had saved her. But it wouldn’t save him.“You had your chance, Marco,” Damian snarled, stepping forward, his shadow towering in the moonlight. His voice cracked with rage and grief. “I would’ve bled for you. I would’ve killed for you. And you

Rain slicked the cobblestones as Marco’s body was lowered into the earth.The Rossi chapel bells tolled in the distance, though no Rossi dared approach. This was a Moretti burial, stripped of pomp, stripped of loyalty. Only a few of Marco’s remaining men lingered at the edges, their faces bitter with quiet rebellion.Adriana stood beside Damian, black veil hiding her expression. She could feel the tension in the air—no prayers, no words of forgiveness. Only silence.The lion had roared his last, and now the world seemed to hold its breath.Damian stared at the coffin as the dirt fell, his jaw set, his fists clenched. There were no tears left. Only a grim resolve.“He was the last of them,” Damian muttered, voice rough. “The last brother I trusted. The legacy we built together is buried with him.”Adriana’s throat tightened. “Not everything is dead.”He glanced at her then—sharp, almost feral. “No, Adriana. The lion’s legacy is dead. All that remains is the wolf.”Later that night, the

The night sky over the eastern docks was painted in crimson. It started with a single explosion — a tanker truck, rigged with charges, erupted into a ball of fire that rolled across the wharf like a dragon’s breath.The ground shook. Windows shattered blocks away. Sirens screamed into the night as people ran in every direction, smoke thickening the air until it was hard to breathe.Adriana was on the balcony of the Moretti estate when the shockwave hit. The distant skyline pulsed orange, then red. Her stomach knotted.She whispered, “Damian…”Inside, Damian was already striding into the war room, shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes blazing with the cold fury of a man who knew the storm had finally arrived.“Report,” he barked.“Explosions at Pier 7 and Pier 11,” his lieutenant gasped. “Gunfire in the streets. Isabella’s men are everywhere. It’s a coordinated strike.”Damian’s fists slammed against the table. “She’s lighting the city to the ground to take the throne.”Downtown Palermo turned

The Moretti estate was cloaked in a tension so thick it felt like breathing smoke. Outside, the city burned in distant districts — flashes of gunfire echoing like thunder, the orange glow of fire bleeding into the night sky. Inside, Adriana stood alone on the balcony of her temporary quarters, her hands gripping the cold iron railing until her knuckles whitened.She could still hear their voices from the war room below — Damian barking orders, lieutenants arguing over strategy, men shouting about betrayals and letters. But none of it was louder than the storm inside her own chest.She thought of the forged letters Isabella had planted. She thought of the way Damian’s eyes had flickered — just for a heartbeat — with doubt. That hurt more than any bullet.Is this what it means to love someone like him? she wondered bitterly. To constantly prove your worth while others try to tear you apart?Behind her, the door opened with a soft creak. Matteo, one of Damian’s oldest allies, stepped in.