Gianna had asked Massimo to look into the issues surrounding Talana.
Meanwhile, Lorenzo was deep in, uncovering all the filth that lay beneath the surface. After leaving the hospital, Massimo Talana insisted she needed to get back home. Though Massimo was not comfortable in her going back to the scene of the crime. Talana needed to face her parents. Arriving outside her home, Massimo said, "If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, you message me immediately." He lifted his hand to remove ap wayward strand. His fingers burning against her skin. "God, how I want to hold her and protect her so badly," he thought. As he entered the car to get back home, rage simmered beneath Massimo's cool exterior. "Lorenzo, have you managed to find out anything about the club incident and her home incident?" “Boss, this has to do with her father's gambling debts. That guy, his name is Marco Rossi." Lorenzo was right on Massimo's heels. “The bastard’s been moving in silence, using fronts to cover up his operations. But the real kicker is that he's been seen having private meetings with De Marco and Donatello for weeks now. If Talana’s father owes them, they using that debt as leverage.” "But why Talana? What the fuck does she have to so with all this?" Massimo raged. Pacing the floor of his VIP room, he growled. “I don’t care what it takes. Just find out everything! Look I to this tracker also!" "Talana isn’t just anyone. She’s mine! I’ll burn their bloody empires to the ground before I let anyone get his hands on her again!" Massimo raged on, thowing back a glass of stiff whiskey. Lorenzo nodded. “Understood. Sir, do you think this goes deeper?” "I don't think," his temper rising. "I know it does." As Massimo poured himself another glass of whiskey, his thoughts drifting back to Talana, the woman who had unknowingly ignited a war within him. He stared at the amber coloured liquid in the glass, reminiscing at how she felt in his arms as they danced, how her laughter lit up the darkened space inside his heart. "Hang in there, angel. I'm coming to you," he uttered as he downed the second glass. As he was about to leave and head back home, one of the other employees came in. "Boss!" Mateo said as he entered. "What is it?" Massimo vented. "Something's going down, Boss. I heard it would take place in three days. Donatello, de Marco and Rossi!" Mateo explained. "Find Rossi! I want him delivered to the spot before the end of business tomorrow!" he instructed, "we not waiting on them we going after Rossi. He's their weak link!" The Donatello'swere into drug trafficking, de Marco's had connections in Mexico. "How do you want Rossi? Dead or alive?" Matteo and Lorenzo asked. With a sinister smirk, he answered, "Both!" "Got it, Boss," both Lorenzo and Mateo responded. With each step he took, they saw his determination. "I've never seen the Don like this over a woman before. She must be something special," Mateo concluded. Whatever was happening, Massimo Morelli was not going to allow Talana to face it alone. "Lorenzo, arrange a meeting with Roberto Sanchiano!" he ordered. "Boss?" he questioned. "Do it!" he yelled. A few minutes later. "Mr Sanchiano, Massimo Morelli needs a word, sir." "Roberto," Massimo greeted the elderly gentleman telephonically. "Morelli, young man," the elder Don greeted him. "Your granddaughter's life is in danger." Massimo explained everything to Sanchiano. "I knew that bastard was trouble the day Rosslina left the family for him," Sanchiano slammed his hand on the table in anger. "Sir, I don't know how much debt he owes or what the connection is to the Donatello's and de Marco's, but whatever it is, it's not just gambling debt. It's bigger than that!" "I will get her uncle on it first thing in the morning!" Roberto Sanchiano informed him. "I've ordered my men to get Rossi. I want him dead. A message that they are playing with fire!" "It's okay son, between the Sanchianos and Morelli’s we will get to the bottom of this." "Roberto, Talana has stamina. She wants in," he informed the old man. "Of course she does. The mafia runs in her blood. We'll bring her in when the time is right!" he assured Massimo. Massimo contacted Gianna. "I need Talana out that house tomorrow. Either she stays with me, or I have her in lockdown at your place." Meanwhile, back at Talana's. "You bitch," her step mother raised her hand and hit her." "What the hell," Talana wasn't going to allow for Maria to hit her. "Your dad has made a deal with de Marco. You're going to marry him!" she insisted. "The bloody hell I am! No one signs me away!" her tone, not so gentle. Marching up to her bedroom, Talana sent a text message to Max. "I need your help!" As quick as the text was sent, it was as quick as Massimo answered her back. "On my way!" Within minutes, Massimo was outside her place. Talana heard the car and went out the back way to avoid both her father and stepmother. Climbing in the car, Massimo saw the handprint on her face. "Angel, speak to me! Who the fuck hit you!" he urged her. "Maria. My dad signed me away to de Marco!" she raged. "Over my dead body!" Massimo said, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. "You're staying at my place tonight," he informed her as they drove to his place. There was no room for argument. "Max?" she began. "Yes, angel," he responded, more gentle this time. "Max, we need to get these bastards," she voice low but angered. "Don't worry, angel, I spoke to Don Sanchiano he is looking into it as well," he responded. "Don Sanchiano? What does ha have to do with all this?" Talana was now more uncertain than before. "Max, I want to deal with this my way!" she implored. "Fine! whatever my angel wants," he resigned with a sigh. His vow was determined. Whatever way Talana wanted it, he would do it. One by one, he would help her exact revenge.The air in Tangier was thick with salt and spice, clinging to the skin like memory. Talana stood on the terrace of the El Minzah Hotel, her eyes scanning the glimmering shoreline. From here, the city looked like a dream painted in gold and ivory, but beneath it pulsed the dark arteries of a world she had come to cleanse."They confirmed," Aria said behind her. "Five syndicates. All sending senior delegates. De Marco’s ghosts will be there."Talana nodded. Her tailored suit was bone-white, the color of surrender and burial shrouds, she intended to give them both."Have the Blood Orchids arrived?"Aria handed her a velvet-lined case. Inside, six black orchids, genetically altered, poisoned at the tips. A symbol. A threat. A promise.Talana closed the case. "Place one at every table."Aria raised a brow. "Subtle.""Not meant to be."The summit was to take place in the old Palais du Bey, a forgotten fortress now reclaimed for its beauty and brutality. It had once been a house of concubine
The sky over Florence was a brittle shade of winter blue, the kind that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to break. Inside the private chapel of the Sanchiano estate, nothing moved except for the golden flicker of votive candles, casting long shadows against ancient stone walls. The altar was cleared. The icons veiled. What was about to take place here wasn’t sanctioned by Church or law, it belonged to something older.Talana stood at the head of the nave, a tailored black suit replacing the bloodied silks of war. Her hair was swept back, a single strand curling free against her cheek. On her finger, the Sanchiano ring gleamed. No tiara. No crown. Just the weight of inheritance.Gianna stood to her right, fierce and calm in a dark crimson coat, holding the family ledger in gloved hands. Aria was on her left, silent but coiled, a blade beneath her dress. Massimo remained behind her, the only one who knew what it had cost to stand here.The pews were filled not with pries
The morning broke grey over the Tuscan hills, mist crawling low over the vineyards like secrets trying to find their voice. The doorbell rang, a courier from the pathologist brought the envelope. Talana, was the first one up. She received the report and now stood at the edge of the terrace, the wond tugging at her sleeves, envelope in hand. Massimo walked behind her, two mugs of coffee in hand. "You not going to open it?" He asked handing her, her cup. Wrapping her hands around its warmth, envelope under her arm now. "I will, I just need to brace for whatever the results are."He took the mug from her hands, "Open it Bella Mia."Talana opened the envelope and read the results her eyes widening in confusion. "And?" Massimo asked. "Negative," she responded, "the results are negative."She stood there, the image of her mother still echoed in her mind, even though she now knew the woman in the photograph wasn't Rosalina.Whoever had written the letter and taken that photo had gone to
The photograph sat on the desk like a relic from another life. Talana stared at it for the third hour straight, as if her mother might suddenly blink or speak from within the frame. The woman in the image looked older, gaunter, her face more drawn than Talana remembered, but the eyes were the same. Rosalina Sanchiano, alive in 2019. Or someone who wore her face.She couldn’t stop turning the question in her mind: "Was this the truth, or another carefully laid lie? A misdirection planted by De Marco before his fall? A ghost conjured to unsettle her?"Behind her, the door opened without a knock. Massimo stepped in, silent as shadow, a glass of water in his hand. He placed it beside her, brushing his fingers against hers. "Still no sleep angel?" he asked gently.She shook her head. "How can I sleep when every answer opens a deeper question?"Massimo looked at the photo, then the letter. He picked it up, scanned it again slowly, as if trying to absorb every stroke of the pen. When he fini
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