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CHAINS OF DESIRE
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2025-10-16 02:56:54Elena’s heart skipped. The woman’s whisper came again, urgent but quiet.
“Come on. We don’t have much time.”
Elena hesitated, glancing back at the wounded driver slumped against the wall. His eyes were barely open now, his breathing shallow. She wanted to help him, but the fear in the stranger’s tone was sharper than pity.
The woman stepped out of the shadows, her face half-lit by the dying fire. She looked about thirty, dark hair cut short, eyes the color of smoke. She wore a plain black coat that didn’t match the elegance of the mansion.
“Who are you?” Elena asked.
“Someone who’s not supposed to be here,” the woman said. “Move.”
Elena followed her into the narrow passage behind the bookshelf. The air smelled of dust and stone, like a forgotten cellar. They moved quickly, their footsteps muffled by layers of dust. Somewhere behind them, shouts echoed again—men searching the halls.
“How did you find me?” Elena whispered.
“Your father,” the woman said. “He sent word through a contact in Palermo. Said if things went wrong, I’d know where to look.”
Elena’s throat tightened. “He’s really alive?”
“Yes. But you won’t be if we stay here.”
They descended a spiral staircase, the walls damp and cold. The deeper they went, the louder the rain sounded, as if the storm was waiting for them outside.
“What’s your name?” Elena asked.
“Lucia.”
The name struck something familiar—her father had once mentioned a Lucia who worked with him years ago. Loyal. Fearless. The kind of woman who vanished when things turned dark.
When they reached the bottom, Lucia pushed open a heavy metal door. Cool air rushed in, thick with rain and earth. They stepped out into an underground courtyard behind the mansion—overgrown ivy, cracked stone, the world wet and glistening.
For a second, Elena almost smiled. It was the first open space she’d seen since the night she was taken.
“We can go through the woods,” Lucia said, scanning the trees. “There’s a car waiting at the south gate. After that, I can get you to Palermo.”
A faint hope flickered in Elena’s chest. “And Alessandro? He’ll come after us.”
“He’ll try,” Lucia said. “But he’ll have to catch us first.”
They started running. The rain soaked through their clothes, branches whipping at their faces as they pushed through the trees. The sound of sirens—or maybe alarms—rose behind them. Somewhere far off, she thought she heard Alessandro’s voice, low and furious, calling her name.
They didn’t stop until the mansion lights were distant specks behind the rain. Lucia slowed, pressing a hand to her chest.
“We’re almost there,” she said. “Just through this clearing.”
Elena nodded, breathless. “Thank you.”
Lucia gave a tired smile. “Save it for when we’re safe.”
A sudden snap echoed from the darkness—twigs breaking under a boot. Lucia froze.
“Elena Romano!” a man’s voice shouted. “Step forward with your hands where I can see them!”
Lucia swore under her breath and pulled a small pistol from her coat. “Run.”
But Elena didn’t move. That voice—it wasn’t one of Alessandro’s guards. It was deeper, rougher, but somehow familiar.
She took a cautious step forward, squinting through the rain. The flashlight lifted, revealing a man’s face she hadn’t seen in years. Gray streaked his hair, but his eyes were unmistakable.
“Dad?” she whispered.
Salvatore Romano lowered the light, his expression torn between relief and guilt.
“It’s me, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”
Lucia grabbed Elena’s arm. “Don’t trust him. Not yet.”
Elena looked from one to the other, heart pounding. The storm roared around them, drowning out everything except the wild confusion in her chest.
Her father took a slow step closer.“Come with me, Elena. We don’t have much time.”
Behind them, another sound rose—the distant growl of an engine.
Headlights broke through the rain, cutting across the clearing. A sleek black car skidded to a stop, doors flying open.
Alessandro De Luca stepped out, rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing left in the world.
Two men. Two truths. Two cages waiting to close.
Elena couldn’t tell which one she feared more.
The rain came harder, drumming against the trees and washing mud over her shoes.
Alessandro’s men spilled out behind him, weapons drawn but held low, waiting for a signal.
“Easy,” he said. “I didn’t come here to fight.”
“You came to finish what you started,” Alessandro answered. His voice carried, quiet but sharp. “You stole from me, killed my men, and then sent your daughter to distract me.”
“That’s not true,” Salvatore said, taking a slow step forward. “She’s innocent. She doesn’t belong in this.”
Elena’s throat tightened. “Then tell him, Dad. Tell him why any of this happened.”
Salvatore’s eyes flicked to hers—filled with regret, not denial. “Because I tried to stop something worse,” he said. “And now we’re all paying for it.”
The words hung there, half-explained, half-confession. Alessandro’s jaw clenched.
“You think you can justify betrayal with philosophy?” he said.
Lightning split the sky, throwing all three faces into stark light. For a heartbeat, Elena saw the truth in both men—the pride, the anger, the fear of losing control.
Lucia leaned close. “We have to move, now.”
But Elena couldn’t move. Her father’s voice cracked when he said her name, the same way it used to when she was little and he’d promised the world would never hurt her.
A shout came from the tree line—another group approaching fast.
“Who are they?” Elena asked.
Neither man answered.
The next moment was chaos—flashlights, shouting, the roar of engines closing in.
Someone fired.
And everything went white.
Latest chapter
HIS STOLEN PRIDE ROOTS OF LIGHT
At first, the earth only murmured. The sound was low, like a heartbeat buried beneath the soil, pulsing at irregular intervals. Then came the shimmer—thin veins of light slithering through the cracks, moving with a strange intelligence. Alessandro stood at the edge of the valley, boots sinking in the damp soil as the sun tried and failed to rise beyond the horizon. It was early morning, yet the sky was already painted with streaks of gold, not from dawn but from the growing web of luminous roots spreading across the landscape. Behind him, Lucia adjusted her field scanner, her face lit by the device’s faint green glow. “It’s accelerating,” she said quietly. “It’s not just energy; it’s absorbing matter. Every metal, every circuit—it’s feeding.” Alessandro’s throat tightened. “Then it’s learning from what it consumes.”By noon, the ground trembled continuously. The roots had breached the old city walls and slithered along highways like rivers of molten glass. Buildings hummed as though al
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The world didn’t break all at once—it began to twist in whispers. Months after the rain washed Rome clean, people had learned to live again, to plant, to laugh, to believe in ordinary things. But beneath that fragile calm, the pulse returned—not steady now, but uneven, trembling through the atmosphere like a fevered heartbeat. Alessandro heard it first one night in his apartment, the sound faint and hollow, echoing through the power lines like something breathing where no lungs existed. He ignored it at first, chalking it up to fatigue or memory, but when the streetlights outside began to blink in irregular bursts, he felt the old dread crawl up his spine. The Lion was gone. Elena had become the world. But what if the world was still learning how to be alive?Lucia arrived the next morning, her face pale, her voice clipped. “The grids are acting strange again,” she said. “Not just here—everywhere. Synchronization failures, spontaneous blackouts, systems rewriting themselves.” Alessandr
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The days after the Vatican collapse stretched into a blur of grey skies and sleepless nights. Rome had survived, but it no longer felt like the city Alessandro knew. The air carried a strange stillness, like the pause after a final note of music that no one dared to applaud. People moved slower now, speaking softly, as though afraid to disturb whatever fragile balance had been restored. News broadcasts called it The Silence Era. The Lion’s fall had wiped half the digital archives, forcing humanity back to paper, ink, and memory. Yet beneath the quiet recovery, Alessandro sensed that something unseen had survived. Every night, he dreamed of her—not the Elena made of code, nor the scientist he’d fallen in love with, but something in between. In his dreams, she stood by the river, light dripping from her hair, whispering, It isn’t over. He always woke before she could finish.Lucia was a shadow of herself, pacing the abandoned museum they had turned into their new base. She’d salvaged wha
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