Novels by Hadesta Sage

I didn’t sleep again. My eyes stayed open staring at the ceiling. The shadows in the room moved slowly. As the hours passed my chest felt tight like something heavy was sitting on it. I didn’t know what was happening to me or why I couldn’t breathe right. When I was alone in the dark, the things I’d seen yesterday kept playing in my head. The guns. The money. The way Luciano never blinked when people bowed to him like he was some kind of king.And maybe he was. Maybe this world had kings and he was one of them. A cold, ruthless, and powerful one at that.Morning light slipped through the curtains soft and gold. I didn’t move for a while, but when I finally sat up, the silence in the house felt different, like it was holding its breath.I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was empty. The air was still. There were no footsteps. No voices. Nothing. I walked slowly toward the stairs and heard a faint sound like a whisper or a hum, and I followed it.Downstairs, the living

The morning came slow but heavy. My body was stiff from sleeping in a weird position but my mind didn’t feel like it had rested at all. I blinked a few times trying to make sense of where I was. With the desk under my head, papers still open, I immediately figured out where I was.That cold empty feeling in my chest hadn’t gone away, it had only grown overnight. The light was still on, a soft orange glow in the corner of the room making everything look more fragile than it actually was. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and looked around the door to find the door creaked open. I didn’t flinch. It was Marco walking in carrying a steaming cup. He didn’t smile. Neither did he ask me how I slept. He just placed the cup in front of me and said “you didn’t move all night.”I looked at him. “I didn’t sleep, that's why I didn’t move.”He nodded like he expected that answer and leaned against the wall sipping from his own cup. His eyes didn’t leave mine for a second. It was like he was trying to f

The sky outside was grey when I followed Luciano down the hallway, the kind of grey that makes you feel like something heavy is coming, maybe rain, maybe something worse, I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say a word. He just walked ahead like he expected me to know where we were going, and honestly, I didn’t, but I walked closely behind him.I realised that there was something about the way he moved. It was sharp and fast like his whole life was dependent on one big mission.He took a turn and stopped at a black door, plain but different. This was the kind of door that doesn’t look important until you notice the lock. It was thick and shiny, like whatever’s behind it needs to be protected. Protected from intruders and scavengers, I suppose. He pulled out a key from his pocket, unlocked it without a glance back at me, and pushed the door open.Inside was a small room. It had just a table, two chairs, and shelves filled with files. It looked boring, quiet, but the kind of quiet that hides

The moment I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was. I didn't remember instantly. I noticed the ceiling above me was too high. It was too white and too clean. This couldn't be my room nor my house. Something felt off. I was feeling out of place for a moment. I thought I was dreaming. The bed was softer than anything I’d ever slept on, and the sheets smelled like fresh linen and something expensive I couldn’t name. Then it came back to me all at once: my brother, Luciano Romano, the cold deal, the black car, the gates, the silence. I sat up fast, my heart racing. My room looked like something out of a magazine. It was way too big, way too perfect. The gold curtains blocked out most of the sunlight, but even the slivers that broke through felt unreal. Everything in this room screamed money. Power. Control. And I had none of it. I spotted a note on the bedside table, written in dark ink with perfect handwriting: “Be downstairs in ten minutes. Don’t be late.” Ten minutes. T

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the apartment. The lights were off, the door slightly open, and the air felt heavy. I called out my brother’s name, but no answer came. My heart started racing. I walked slowly and carefully, like someone was watching me.Then I saw him, my brother, sitting on the bare floor, head in his hands, eyes red. “What happened?” I asked, kneeling beside him.He raised his head. I saw his face. It was swollen and he had a bleeding nose. I offered him a tissue. I helped him clean himself up. He looked at me like he had already given up. He was helpless. “I messed up,” he whispered. “They’re going to kill me.” My stomach dropped. “Who?” He didn’t speak, he just handed me a note. It was short. On the note, there was an address. There was a time. And there was one name with a signature.That one name rang a bell. It was Luciano Romano. I had heard of him. Everyone had. He was cold. He was rich. He was deadly. And a lead mafia in an open secre