It was very rare for Talana to go out with her colleagues. Tonight, she had promised to join them at the club.
Later that evening, the soft glow of neon lights flickered outside the bar as Talana smoothed down her short red, strappy mini dress, black stockings, and a pair of short heel black shoes. As she entered, they beckoned her in their direction. Using their signal, she began walking over to them only to stop dead in her tracks. She felt it, someone's eyes roving over her, the intensity of a strong, dominant male’s gaze. Trying to ignore it, she proceeded to the group. Too late, he was seated just before her table. Massimo Morelli was looking at her with an intensity she had never felt before. As she passed by his eyes, we’re eating her up. His taut muscles visible flexed beneath his snug T-shirt and tattoos that snaked along his arms. His sharp jaw-line and smouldering blue eyes beheld an intensity that made the air around him feel heavier. As theycwere throwing back their drinks, instantly the noise faded into the background as the presence of a male approached their table. "Care to dance?" he leaned over and whispered in Talana's ear. Her heart beat faster at the sound of this male husky voice. As she looked up, her expression froze. It was him, the guy that had been watching her, a slow, confident smile spread across his chiselled face. "Well?" he asked, waiting on a response. "Go," one of the doctors nudged her under the table. "Okay," Talana responded reservedly. Holding out his hand, he guided her to the dance floor. The moment he stepped closer, his scent, a mixture of Old Spice and something uniquely him, enveloped her. They moved to the rhythm, and the world around them fell into a haze as she lost herself in the moment. Spinning her around, he pulled her closer into him, their bodies melding into a perfect harmony of excitement and danger. “I'm Max.” His lips curled at the edges, making her weak in the knees. “You come here often?” “I'mTalana and no,” she said, biting her lip bottom lip. “It’s a first. Tonight was a rare treat.” “I know who you are doc! But yes, a treat indeed,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite identify, something mystifying. “You should have more nights like this.” His tone was laced with some magnetic. "hmmmm," she responded. The music kept on pulsating. Talana was lost in the moment. As the music changed, Talana removed herself from the dance floor and headed back to her table. Grabbing her drink, the rest looked on in awe. "Oh my goodness, he's like a god," the one doctor said. Talana was trying to catch her breath when, "Mr. Max wants you to join him at his table," his authoritative voice commanded. "I'm out with friends," she responded aloof and cool. "Doc, how often do you get a guy like that hitting on you," they urged her. Giving them the skank eye, she relented and went over to his table, but not before saying she would make it up to them. Over at Max's table, she excused herself, going to the ladies' room. Max knew who she was, for years, he had desired her. As Talana was about to exit the ladies, a door pushed open, forcing her to the side. "missy!" the man said, his breath wreaking of old alcohol and cigarettes mixed with the scent of new. his face having a covering over it. Pushing her back inside, he forced her against the wall. "Such a fucking whore! I'll teach you a lesson!" he grabbed her inner thigh pushing his hand upwards to her pleasure point, Talana screamed for help. Sensing something was wrong, he went towards the ladies room, then a scream bellowed. "Angel!" his chest clamped tight. He didn’t hesitate, pushing the door open he pulled the male away from Talana. "I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" he screamed hitting the man across the face full force with a fist. Grabbing Talana he said in a gentle, calm tone, nothing like she had just experienced when he went at the assailant, "Are you okay Angel? Did that bastard hurt you or violate you?" "I'm okay," she stammered, all shaken from the experience. He wrapped her in his embrace, “It’s alright, angel, I’m here for you.” This meant war, Talana was meant to be his woman, but first, she would need to know her background. As they walked, she noticed him with a cigarette in hand. "You smoke!" she stated. "Why? don't you like it, angel?" he smirked. Truth was he only smoked when he had been drinking. "Not at all," she responded. She had also noticed the smell on him when they danced. "I'll keep that in mind," he responded, his lips at the sides curled upwards. As they entered the private room, she asked, "What's this?" "This, angel, is the V I P room. Here I can see everything that goes on," he explained as he led her to a window and stood behind her, pressing his hard torso hauntingly against her supple body. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but after the experience a few minutes back, he backed down. "Max," she said as she wiggled out from his embrace. "Relax angel," he answered, "you're safe with me. I promise I will not do anything to harm you or violate your trust in me." Talana didn't know what to make of this. She'd never even been with a guy. "What made you come here?" he asked curiously, "You're different from all the others that come here." "Different? How?" she asked, standing by the window looking out over the club scene below. "You're more sophisticated. I take you for someone who loves the opera, art galleries, and quiet dinners," he observed her reaction. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" she laughed softly. "I don't need charm angel, I call it as I see it," he said. "See those girls down there, they're here every week, flirting, dancing, and kissing any guy that gives them attention." "Jeez," she said. "You angel, don't belong in a place like this, but you do belong up here with me," he smirked at her. Gently tugging her away from the window, he guided her over to one of the plush couches. Handing her a glass, he said, "Drink, it will calm your nerves after what just happened." Accepting the glass she sipped on the neat whisky and ice, a warm burning sensation glided down the back of her throat, hitting her stomach with a warmth. A wisp of hair fell out of place, Massimo reached out and brushed it way gently, softly gazing into her eyes as his thumb grazed her bottom lip. "Come dance with me again, angel!" his tone, more fervent. For some reason, Talana felt comfortable with him. She felt she could trust him. Her body didn't shudder to repel him the way it did with the assailant in the ladies' room earlier. Pulling her down to the dance floor, he moved his body closer, pulling her tighter into him as the vibe of the music slowed down. His hands rested on her hips lightly as he effortlessly guided her, leaving her breathless. "You're good at dancing," she commended as he twirled her in his arms. "Angel, I'm good at a lot of things," he replied as his lips curved into a wicked grin, pulling her closer to him. As they moved closer, Massimo said, "Angel, you are playing with fire!" he smirked as he bent his head and kissed her forehead. As the song ended, he twirled her one last time as her back leaned against his chest, pressing close to him. "You're trouble, angel," he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine at the nickname he had given her. "And you're not?" she shot back. "I'm the kind of trouble you will never forget, the kind you don't take home,” he chuckled low and deep. Early hours of the morning - "I need to leave," Talana said as she checked the time on her phone. Massimo didn't like the idea of her leaving the club alone and decided to escort her to her car. Taking her soft, defined hand in his strong, firm calloused hand, his thumb rubbed over its back, igniting something deep inside. "Let me at least get you to your car, angel. After everything you've been through tonight. I need to know you will be safe out of here. Talana didn't reject his offer. Instead , he warmly accepted it. As they got to the car, he pushed her back against it. His body was hard pressed against hers. His warm breath hovering just above her lips, as his hand reached for her face, his thumb again grazing her lips. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice a rough caress against her soft skin. Talana stood there, mesmerised by Max. Her lips parted, but not a sound escaped. "Angel, tell me to stop because once I start, there will be no holding back. I can barely control myself now,” he said again. Her body responded before her mind to tell her to resist. Her fingers curled into the silk fabric of his shirt, gripping him, silently begging him not to stop. Was it the alcohol that untamed the uaually very controlled and calm Doctor Fabrizio? Max’s lips captured hers, slow but possessive. A kiss that burned, setting her on fire. He pulled her closer, deepening the intensity, tasting, and exploring every ounch of her mouth. Max's hands explored the contours of her body as her back arch, her body moulding into his. His one hand clasping the back of her nape, angling her her head as he deepened their kiss. His other hand gripped her dress as though he wanted to rip it off. His mouth left her lips, trailing the side of her neck just below her ear. "Angel," he growled. Talana let out a sultry moan as he pulled her tighter, allowing her to feel the full hardness of his arouressing against her. Heat coiled within her moistening the region between her thighs. His hands trailed still lower, slipping under the hem of her dress as his fingers ghosted across the skin of her inner thigh teasing her. "Fuck angel," he rasped, "you have no idea what you're doing to me!" Talana trembled under his touch, a feeling within her; a flame she'd never felt before. "Don't," she cried. Those words nearly undid him. "You're so wet for me, angel." And just like that, just as she felt herself unravelling for him, Max stopped. With a force, he pulled away. Both were left breathless and wanton. "No, not like this, angel " he rasped, "not when I want to take my time with you. Make you feel every igniting desire. Not when I need you too freaking much." "Get in the car," he ordered, his voice strained with desire. "Please angel, before I forget that I'm trying to be a gentleman. Soon, soon I will make you mine," he muttered.The scent of old paper and cold stone filled the study buried beneath the east wing of the estate. Talana sat alone at the massive oak desk, the flickering lamplight casting her shadow long across the walls. Before her lay a single scrap of paper, aged, yellowed, but unmistakably deliberate.“La madre non è mai morta.”The mother was never dead.She must have read it at least twenty times already, memorized the slope of each letter, the smudge on the edge, the tilt of the final dot. It wasn’t Pablo’s handwriting. It wasn’t De Marco’s. It was from someone who wanted her to know something, or suffer from believing it.Her hands shook as she folded the note again. Was it real? A trap? Hope? Madness?The door creaked as Mariano entered, his steps slow, careful. He carried no gun, no files, no bravado. Just his eyes, which avoided hers.“Close the door,” Talana said quietly.He obeyed. The heavy click echoed like a judgment in the silence.She turned, lifting the note. “Who gave this to me
Talana lingered in the kiss, letting her lips soften against his, the night wrapping around them like silk. When she finally pulled back, her forehead remained against Massimo’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, but low, a sound she had come to rely on like a compass in a world that had spun far too many times.“Do you think we’ll ever stop counting losses?” she whispered.Massimo didn’t answer right away. His hand found hers on the rail, fingers interlacing. “No,” he said. “But maybe we can stop bleeding from them.”They stood like that for a while, two warriors dressed in night air and silence. Below, the sea growled softly, as if trying to keep its secrets.A knock came at the door behind them. Massimo turned. His posture shifted, not tensed, not hostile, but alert. He glanced at Talana before moving back inside.“Come in.”It was Marco, one of Mariano’s oldest men, graying at the temples, trench lines etched into his face like carved marble. He held a leather-bound case against his
The Calabrian sun was mild that morning, wrapped in soft clouds that dulled the heat but did nothing to quiet the cicadas in the olive groves around the Sanchiano estate.It had been five days since Donatello and De Marco’s death had occurred. Five days since blood had been spilled in Croatia, since the cries of vengeance had quieted in the echoing tunnels beneath a forgotten fortress.Now, there was only wind and ghosts.Talana walked the hallways of the Sanchiano villa like someone still caught between time zones, past, present, and a future she couldn’t yet touch. Her boots whispered across the marble, dark hair still damp from her shower, her eyes dull with exhaustion.She stopped at Roberto’s study noticing that the door was ajar. The room still held his scent, the embracing scent that was his alone, sandalwood and pipe smoke, and the dust motes swirled like spirits in shafts of golden morning light. She stepped inside, brushing her fingers over the worn leather of his favorite c
The Croatian sky cracked open with lightning as the fortress crumbled behind them. Rain hissed against scorched stone, washing away the blood of war. The final battle had ended, but the silence that followed felt louder than gunfire.Donatello’s corpse lay in a canvas shroud beneath a ruined archway, limbs twisted, neck broken, the devil unmasked at last.Mariano stood over him, torch in hand, the flames flickering across his rain-slicked jaw. “He doesn’t deserve a grave,” he muttered.Talana said nothing, eyes hollow, as if she could already hear the echo of bones breaking down to dust. Massimo placed a hand on her back but didn’t speak.“Burn him,” Mariano said. “Let the world forget him, and let the flames remember.”No prayers were spoken. No crosses drawn. Mariano lit the torch and tossed it onto the oil-soaked shroud. Flames leapt like hungry wolves, devouring what remained of Donatello’s legacy. The stench of burning flesh mingled with the metallic tang of gunpowder.Talana ste
The iron door groaned shut behind Massimo as he descended into the dungeon beneath the Sanchiano estate. The air was wet with mildew and old blood, torchlight flickering off the stone walls like ghost-fire. In the last cell on the left sat Drake de Marco.His face was still marred from the Berlin fire, skin stitched, eye half-blind, a permanent sneer carved across his ruined mouth. But his eyes… they still glinted with the same venom.Talana stood in front of the cell, her arms folded, eyes sharp. “Any final truths you want to gift us before your empire is reduced to a headline?” she asked.De Marco laughed, the sound ragged. “You still think this is about empires. You think Donatello built this from ambition?”“Enlighten me.”He leaned forward, shackles clinking. “He was chosen. Sanctified. He didn’t build it. He inherited it. Just like you.”Talana didn’t flinch. “The only thing I’ve inherited is a war and I’m ending it.”Massimo’s gaze never left De Marco. “He dies after Donatello.
War didn’t arrive with fanfare. It crept across maps, blinking red lights and encrypted coordinates. After the Red Reaping was severed, the remaining limbs of Donatello and De Marco’s global trafficking network continued to twitch beneath the surface.Talana was no longer reactive. She was surgical. The Morelli-Sanchiano alliance became the scalpel.The first phase of global dismantling launched in the cover of night. Targets were precise: smuggling ports, corrupted embassies, and ghost-ran airfields. None would survive the week.Marseille – Dockside Warehouse, Mariano moved like a phantom. Clad in black, his comms buzzed with coded directives from the Catanzaro command.Two shipping crates marked as “ritual wine” were pried open. Inside: restraints, pharmaceuticals, and falsified medical clearances. Another crate held frozen embryos, each vial tagged with Vatican clearance seals.“God help them,” one soldier murmured.“God’s not here,” Mariano muttered. “Only fire.”Within minutes, t