Novels by Ugo Ananaba

After the FireSmoke still hung over the river like a curse.Livia stood at the edge of the ruins, coat flapping against her legs. The docks were nothing but ribs of metal, the water lit orange from the glow that refused to die. Police tape fluttered, sirens moaned somewhere behind her. She didn’t move until Alessandro’s shadow reached her shoulder.“Ambulance is waiting,” he said.She shook her head. “I’m fine.”He looked at the soot streaked across her cheek, at the torn sleeve, and didn’t argue. The heat from the smouldering containers pushed against them. Somewhere a hull groaned and slipped under.Sergio’s voice broke through their earpieces. “They torched everything east side. Chemical spill too—fire crew says it’ll burn till morning.”Alessandro exhaled, slow and tight. “And Russo?”“No sign,” Sergio replied. “But Santini’s body is gone. Somebody pulled him out before we got there.”Livia’s gaze stayed on the flames. “Then he’s still feeding Russo’s fire.”At the safehouse, the

Russo’s FireNight swallowed Milan whole. The rain had stopped, but the city steamed — streetlights reflected off wet cobblestones, turning everything the colour of blood and gold.In the villa’s main hall, Russo stood by the window, a half-empty glass trembling in his grip. The reflection staring back at him was not the king he remembered. It was something else. Hollow-eyed. Ferocious. Losing.“Marco was your man,” he hissed, spinning on Sofia. “You told me he’d never talk.”Sofia didn’t flinch. She sat elegantly on the sofa, legs crossed, cigarette burning between her fingers. “Marco was everyone’s man once. You can’t bribe loyalty that doesn’t exist anymore.”Russo hurled the glass. It shattered against the marble, red streaking across the white like a murder scene. “He humiliated me in open court. Before cameras. Before the council. Before her.”Sofia exhaled smoke, calm and cold. “Then humiliate her back. Burn her house. Burn her name.”His jaw tightened. “I’ll do more than that.

The Counter-WitnessThe fourth day broke with thunder. The rain washed the courthouse steps, but the square still seethed. Protestors clashed with supporters, with banners sagged under the downpour. The storm outside mirrored the one inside.Livia adjusted her scarf, eyes hooded against the flashes of cameras. Alessandro’s hand lingered at the small of her back as they pushed through the barricade. “Stay close,” he muttered.She gave him a faint smile. “Where else would I go?”Clara was already ahead, notebook sealed in plastic, hair plastered to her face. She glanced over her shoulder. “Today we shift it,” she whispered. “Or we’re finished.”Inside, the chamber buzzed. Russo sat gleaming in a tailored suit, as though the storm had bowed to him. Sofia was at his side, lips curved in satisfaction. Their lawyer stacked fresh folders, weapons waiting to be drawn.The judges entered. The gavel fell.“Proceed.”Russo’s lawyer rose. “Yesterday, witnesses exposed the defendant’s complicity.

Day ThreePlacards rose like weapons, chants echoing in waves. “Livia the Survivor!” answered by “Livia the Liar!” Outside the courthouse, the square boiled. Reporters shoved microphones through the barricades, desperate for sound bites.Livia tightened her coat around her shoulders. The drizzle had flattened her hair, but her eyes burned steady. Alessandro hovered close, jaw clenched, scanning the crowd for threats. Clara trailed behind, notebook tucked under her arm, feeling the storm pressing in from all sides.Inside, the chamber was hotter, the air thick with expectation. Russo sat already, posture loose, smile sharp. Sofia whispered something in his ear, earning a low laugh that made Clara’s stomach knot.The clerk called the session to order. The lead judge’s gavel cracked. “Proceed.”Russo’s lawyer rose. “Your Honours, the defence speaks of survival, of scars. Yet scars do not erase responsibility. Today, the truth will not be paper or photograph, but voice. Testimony.”The fi

Day TwoThe courthouse was louder today. The crowd on the steps had doubled, reporters shouting, cameras flashing like lightning. Placards waved in the drizzle—some painted Clara as a hero, others branded her a fraud. The city itself was split, and the tribunal hadn’t even begun.Clara gripped the railing as they climbed the stairs. Her throat was dry, her stomach knotted, but she forced herself upward. Beside her, Alessandro cut through the crush like a shield. Livia walked on the other side, poised, face unreadable, though Clara felt the tremor in her step.Inside the chamber, Russo was waiting. He stood as they entered, greeting the judges with a nod as though he already owned the room. Sofia lounged at his side, lips painted crimson, eyes glittering with malice.The clerk called the case. Papers shuffled. The lead judge’s voice rang out: “Proceed.”Russo’s lawyer rose, his smile oily. “Your Honours, yesterday, the defence argued that our evidence was fabricated. Today, we bring tr

The TribunalClara clutched her notebook to her chest as Alessandro guided her through the crush. Livia walked on Clara’s other side, her chin lifted, every step deliberate. To the press, she looked like control made flesh. Inside, her pulse hammered.“Clara Rossi!” a reporter shouted. “Are you on Moretti’s payroll?”“Livia, do you deny funding her exposés?”“Alessandro—did you bankroll the smear campaign against Russo?”The questions rained down like bullets. Clara’s throat tightened, but she kept walking. One wrong word, one stutter, and the city would devour her whole.Inside, the marble corridors swallowed them into echoing silence. Guards pushed open the heavy doors of the tribunal chamber. Rows of benches stretched toward a raised dais where three judges waited, their black robes severe against the pale stone.The gallery was packed—politicians, bankers, journalists, even curious citizens who wanted blood disguised as justice. Inspector Rossi sat near the back, his trench coat d