Two years later.The first rays of dawn cut across the Tangier skyline, gilding the fortified Sanchiano villa with a light so sharp it seemed to carve the world into clarity. Talana stood at the highest balcony, wind whipping her dark hair across her face. The ocean stretched endlessly before her, a living mirror of possibility and peril. Two years had passed since the chaos of Project Lazarus and the final battles that had rewritten the map of global crime and power. Yet here she was, unbroken, unbowed, a living testament to survival and control.She ran her fingers across the balcony’s cold iron railing, feeling the smooth burn of the paint beneath her palm. Her mind wandered briefly, not to revenge, not to war, but to what they had created. Empire was not just property, wealth, or influence, it was trust, loyalty, and a network strong enough to resist betrayal, and the Sanchiano-Morelli line was now intertwined like never before.Massimo approached sile
The Mediterranean sun spilled gold over the Tangier skyline, painting the city in hues of warmth and promise. From the balcony of a low, fortified villa, Talana leaned against the stone railing, the wind tugging at her hair. Below, the markets hummed with life, the scent of spices, sea salt, and bread mingling in the morning air. For the first time in over a decade, she felt something like peace, not the hollow calm after a storm, but the quiet of a life reclaimed.Massimo emerged from the study behind her, dressed in crisp linen, the kind that spoke of leisure rather than war. His presence was a tether, grounding her to the moment.“You’re staring at the horizon like we own it,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist.Talana leaned back against him, her hand resting over the subtle swell of her belly. “We do,” she said softly. “In a way, we really do.”Massimo chuckled, resting his chin atop her head. “And in another way, we still have more
The world outside the hospital had turned into something Talana barely recognized. Flashbulbs lit the pavement, burning brighter than the Mediterranean sun. Reporters shouted her name, microphones shoved forward like daggers. The air was electric with both adoration and venom.She stepped out slowly, black sunglasses hiding the burn scars still healing along her cheek. Her body ached with each movement, ribs strapped tight, shoulder bound, but she moved like steel anyway. A living symbol. A woman who had walked through fire and crawled out still breathing.Massimo’s hand hovered at her lower back, close enough to catch her if she faltered, but careful not to overshadow her presence. Lorenzo flanked her other side, his predator’s eyes sweeping the crowd for the slightest twitch, the smallest threat. Mariano and Sanchiano men formed a wall of muscle behind them.The press screamed questions:“Dona Fabrizio, are you afraid for your life?”“Do you
The stench of antiseptic clung to the air, sharp and biting, drowning out the faint perfume of roses that Massimo had demanded the nurses place at Talana’s bedside. The contrast felt obscene, almost mocking, the sweetness of beauty against the charred remnants of her skin. She lay propped against crisp hospital sheets, her dark hair tangled and scorched at the ends, the right side of her face swathed in gauze that peeked blood at the edges.Massimo had not left her side. Not once. He sat slouched in a steel chair, his black shirt ripped open at the collar, eyes bloodshot but burning with something primal, rage, fear, love all braided into one rope wound so tight it looked ready to strangle him. His hand clutched hers, thumb stroking her knuckles as if the act alone could tether her to this world.“Don’t fucking move again like that,” he rasped, his voice broken gravel. “Don’t you ever, ever, throw yourself into the fire for me. You hear me, Talana?”Her li
The storm over Reykjavik was a black maw, swollen clouds split open by veins of white lightning that lit the icy plain like the wrath of old gods. The helicopters cutting through that storm carried two kinds of blood: law and lawlessness.Interpol’s insignia glittered faintly on their fuselages, but the true teeth inside were not their agents, it was Isla with her fire-bright eyes and Aria strapped down with wires feeding into her skull, fighting her own seizures as if she were a living conduit between life and machine.Talana’s world smelled of smoke, blood, and gasoline. Calabria burned in her bones. Every heartbeat was war. Every breath was sharpened glass.Inside the ghe lab the neural server lab was buried in the volcanic rock, a concrete bunker guarded by men with De Marco’s ghost sigil stitched on their Kevlar. Isla led the breach like a woman who had already signed her name in blood. Two silenced pistols in her hands, she cut the first line of guar
Talana’s nails raked down his back as though she could carve answers into his skin. Massimo didn’t flinch, he welcomed the sting. His mouth claimed hers again, rougher now, and he tasted the raw edge of her fury in every bite of her lips. The storm between them wasn’t meant to be gentle. It was meant to consume.Her thighs locked around his waist as he lifted her, slamming her back against the nearest wall. The picture frames rattled; the plaster cracked. Talana moaned into his mouth, her voice breaking between rage and hunger.“You should have told me!” she hissed, dragging his hair back so his eyes met hers. “You should have...”“kept you safe,” he growled, thrusting his hips against her, the heat between them burning away reason. “That’s all I’ve ever done, Talana. Even if it meant carrying sins that weren’t mine.”She tried to answer, but his hand closed around her throat, not crushing, but claiming. Her lips parted, trembling between defiance and surrender. The pressure forced he