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A QUEEN’S CROWN
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2025-10-02 18:42:52
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BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING A QUEEN’S CROWN
“We ship at midnight,” Bianca said.The underground gallery went silent. Crates loomed like tombs, veiled statues cast long shadows in the lamplight. Matteo leaned against the doorway, unreadable. Luca shifted, twitchy and restless, his hand hovering near his pistol as if the silence itself demanded violence.Bianca spread the map across the table. Her voice was steady, steel beneath exhaustion.“Through Antwerp. Three couriers, staggered. One crate was declared as Roman sculptures too heavy to open. The others? Canvases, sold at auction. By the time the banks look twice, the money’s already clean.”Luca gave a bark of laughter, half admiration, half disbelief. “You sound like a Don.”Bianca met his gaze without blinking. “This isn’t chess. It’s war. And in war, the clever survive.”The operation unfurled with brutal speed. Papers forged. Crates sealed with wax. Couriers briefed under threats sharp enough to bleed. Bianca rode with the first shipment, disguised beneath a driver’s cap,
BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING THE EXILE RETURNS
The Romano estate had never felt so tense. Matteo stood in the courtyard under the cold bite of dawn, his coat catching the wind as men rushed around him, reporting on the night’s disasters, missing shipments, silent contacts, money that had evaporated as though swallowed by the earth.But it was the low growl of engines rolling into the estate that made everyone stop.Three black SUVs pulled up, and out stepped Raffaele Romano the prodigal brother, exile, snake. His presence alone was a declaration of war. Gone was the easy arrogance Bianca remembered from those tense dinners months ago. Now he looked sharper, leaner, dressed in a tailored suit so dark it seemed to drink the light, his expression unreadable as he buttoned the jacket and faced Matteo.“Matteo,” Raffaele greeted, smooth as oil.“Raffaele.” Matteo’s voice was gravelly, dangerous. “You dare set foot here?”“Not just dare,” Raffaele said, stepping closer, smiling with that poisonous charm. “I own my return.”Bianca stood
BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING THE DONNA’S SHADOW
The shattered stone from the sniper’s warning shot still littered the balcony when dawn broke over the estate. Bianca hadn’t slept. The bullet mark felt like a brand on her skin, an invisible reminder that even within these walls, she was prey.Matteo had doubled the guards overnight. Men patrolled the grounds in pairs, weapons visible, orders clear. Yet the threat gnawed at Bianca, deep and relentless.By noon, another blow landed.Raffaele burst into the study where Bianca sat reviewing maps with Luca. His face was grim, his phone in hand.“You need to see this.”Bianca took the device, heart pounding as the screen lit up with a video clip. Her stomach dropped.It was her at least, it looked like her wearing a sharp black coat and speaking to a group of men in a Chicago warehouse. The sound quality was poor, but her voice (or someone who sounded unnervingly like her) was clear enough:“The Romanos are soft. Their Donna is ready to break with Matteo and offer new alliances. You bring
BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING WAR ROOM
The Romano estate’s great hall had been cleared, the chandeliers blazing overhead, the heavy oak table stretching like the altar of a cathedral. It wasn’t just a meeting tonight it was war.Matteo stood at the head of the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, his forearms inked with the tattoos of his bloodline. The heads of his family Luca, Raffaele, Enzo, Salvatore, and a handful of lesser lieutenants took their seats in tense silence.Bianca stood at his right side. She wasn’t supposed to be here. The war council was for blood families only, for men who had been sworn to the Romano name since birth. But no one dared to tell Matteo that Bianca could not attend. Not anymore.Matteo placed his hands flat on the table, leaning forward.“The Morettis have taken enough,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “They’ve cut into our shipments, stolen our men, and kidnapped what belongs to me.” His gaze slid toward Bianca, sharp and protective. “That ends tonight. I’m declaring open war.”The
BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING THE RED GALA
The Romano estate had never looked so deadly. The grand ballroom was drenched in crimson and gold, crystal chandeliers blazing overhead, casting shards of light onto the marble floors. Guests wore silk masks, feathered and jeweled each, more elaborate than the last. The Red Gala was meant to be an evening of power and spectacle, a reminder that the Romanos still ruled the underworld with elegance.The ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, filled with the glittering cream of the criminal elite. Dons, heirs, wives, mistresses, and snakes in silk suits all masked, all watching. A string quartet played on the stage as servers drifted between tables carrying champagne flutes and crystal trays.Bianca felt every stare. She knew what they saw: Matteo Romano’s chosen woman, dressed in bloodred satin that clung to her like fire, standing tall at his side. A prize. A target. A message.Matteo’s hand never left the small of her back, guiding her through the throng with the air of a man who owned
BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING ALLIANCE OF HATE
The Romano estate was chaotic blood still fresh on marble floors, the air thick with smoke and gunpowder. Matteo’s men were tightening patrols, barking orders, sealing every exit like wolves circling their den.But when Luca stormed into Matteo’s study, face pale, Bianca felt the shift immediately. This wasn’t the ordinary violence of their world, this was personal.“Don Moretti has Giovanni.”Bianca’s stomach dropped. Giovanni Romano. Matteo’s cousin is young, brash, but loyal to the bloodline.Matteo rose slowly from behind the desk, his movements controlled, but Bianca saw the tremor in his hand as he reached for the note Luca held.A thick envelope, the Romano seal cut open and replaced with a mark Bianca didn’t recognize a serpent coiled around a dagger.Matteo tore it open. Inside was a single Polaroid.Giovanni, bound to a chair, his face swollen, one eye nearly shut. His mouth gagged, blood streaking down his temple. The background was unfamiliar, but the defiance in his young
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