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Uneasy Truce

Author: Constyken
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-05-29 17:58:11

The mansion was quieter than usual when Leora returned—not the quiet of peace, but the kind that settled after a storm, heavy and uncertain. The echo of her boots rang through the stone corridors, each step marking her presence in a place that never truly felt hers.

Rosetta led her without a word. Past the guards whose eyes followed her with suspicion. Past the war rooms pulsing with secrets and strategy. Up a flight of stairs she’d never climbed before. And then, to a set of doors she’d never been invited through.

Private quarters.

Of course he had a whole wing to himself—Don Allerick, the immovable force behind this empire of smoke and knives.

Rosetta didn’t knock. She simply pushed the doors open with a soft creak and stepped aside, allowing Leora to walk through alone.

He was waiting.

Seated behind a polished black desk, his frame cast in half-shadow by the fire burning low behind him. The flames flickered like restless ghosts, lighting up the harsh lines of his face—sharp cheekbo
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  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Brothers in Ash.

    The message carved into steel had not been scrubbed away.Allerick ordered the warehouse sealed, untouched, as if the scars in the metal were an altar. Men stood guard at every door, but no one dared linger inside. The words seemed to bleed still.“Brothers share everything. Even blood.”The soldiers whispered of curses, of vendettas older than the Council itself. But when Allerick wheeled into the ruin, the whispers fell silent.He studied the grooves in the steel with a predator’s patience. His jaw flexed once, twice.Marco lingered behind him. “This wasn’t Council work.”“No,” Allerick agreed. His voice was so low it scraped like gravel. “This was family work.”The silence that followed was worse than gunfire.---Back at the estate, Leora felt the air heavy with unease. The men trained harder, barked sharper, their laughter dead. Even the walls seemed to listen.She moved like a ghost among them, binding wounds, fetching water, forcing smiles. But her thoughts gnawed her raw.Brot

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Ghost in His Blood

    The night refused to end.Smoke still clawed at the horizon, a red wound where Palermo burned, but the Moretti estate felt colder than ash. Every wall seemed to whisper, every shadow seemed to hold a face.Leora awoke from dreams of fire and found the Vessel kneeling by the window, hair tangled, eyes wide open. She hadn’t moved for hours.“What are you doing?” Leora whispered, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.The Vessel’s head turned slowly. “Listening.”“To what?”The girl pressed her palm to the glass, breath fogging it faintly. “The dead. They’re still screaming. Some of them used to be yours.”Leora’s blood chilled. She hurried forward and grasped the girl’s shoulders, shaking gently. “No more of that. Do you hear me? No more.”The Vessel blinked, and the spell broke. She sagged against Leora, lips trembling. “I didn’t mean it. It just… comes.”Leora stroked her hair, heart aching. What have they made you into?But she couldn’t ask aloud. She couldn’t admit the fear curling

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Echoes in Smoke

    The east wing still smoldered.Men dragged corpses from marble floors, their boots leaving red trails where fire hoses had failed to wash away the blood. The Moretti estate, once a fortress of glass and iron, smelled like a grave.Leora stood in the courtyard, her hands shaking as she scrubbed soot from the Vessel’s face. The girl sat on the stone steps, silent, eyes fixed on the ruined windows. Her hair clung in damp strands, her lips parted as if she might whisper—but no sound came.Leora cupped her cheeks, forcing her gaze down. “You did well,” she said softly. “You saved me.”The girl blinked. Slowly, uncertainly, she asked, “Am I allowed?”Leora’s throat tightened. She kissed her forehead. “Yes. You’re allowed.”But the words felt fragile, paper-thin against the night.---Inside, Allerick’s men worked in grim silence.Marco stood near his Don, shirt torn and arm bandaged, face pale from blood loss. “Thirty dead, Don. Twenty more wounded. Half the staff gone. The house won’t hold

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Blood on Marble

    The house groaned like a dying beast.Smoke pressed down on the gilded ceilings, fire licked across priceless tapestries, and the east wing’s grand chandelier dangled by a single chain, swinging wildly above the battlefield.Council soldiers shouted commands through their black masks, storming through the breach. Moretti guards fired back with desperate precision, the marble floors slick with blood.And then—like shadows carved from the night—they arrived.The third force.Silent. Efficient. Moving as one. Their formation was military, but too precise, too rehearsed. Their black uniforms carried no insignia.Their leader strode in front, mask peeled back just long enough to reveal a face Leora knew, a ghost dragged from the grave. But before recognition could sink its claws fully into her, the figure gave a mocking bow.“Don Moretti,” the stranger purred, voice carrying above the carnage. “It seems your war has grown… crowded.”And then—chaos doubled.---The new arrivals tore into bo

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Spark and the Snare

    The drums came closer.At first, faint like thunder carried across the city. Then sharper, more deliberate—a rhythm that didn’t belong to weather, but to war.The Moretti estate bristled awake. Guards poured through the halls, radios crackling, the metallic slide of weapons echoing in every corner.Leora stood by the ballroom window, heart pounding in time with that dreadful rhythm. The girl was beside her, notebook clutched against her chest, her lips moving silently as though reciting prayers. Or rules.Allerick entered last, pushed forward by Marco. His presence shifted the air, commanding without a word. The sight of him—scarred, unbowed even in his chair—struck Leora with a surge of fierce, aching pride.“They’re here.” His voice was steel. “No more waiting.”---The attack began not with bullets, but with whispers.Lights flickered. Radios died with a hiss of static. A pressure settled over the house, heavy, suffocating, like invisible hands pressing on their throats.The girl s

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Calm That Burns

    Night in the Moretti estate was never truly silent.Even when the guards hushed their steps, even when the chandeliers dimmed, the house itself seemed to breathe—a restless giant waiting for dawn.Leora lay awake, listening to that breath. The ceiling above felt oppressive, pressing her down with thoughts that wouldn’t quiet.The girl slept fitfully on the cot beside her, notebook clutched tight to her chest like a holy relic. In the glow of the dying lamp, her face looked younger—soft, almost innocent. But even in sleep, her fingers twitched as though fire lingered just beneath her skin.Leora reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow. The girl stirred, whispering in her dreams. One word repeated, over and over: rules.Leora’s chest ached. “You’re more than rules,” she whispered. “More than what they made you.”But the girl didn’t wake.---By morning, the house pulsed with restless energy. The guards moved briskly, checking weapons, stacking crates, their voices low b

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