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Chapter Eight
Last Updated:
2025-09-18 17:01:09
Latest chapter
His Queen,Their War Chapter Eighty Three
Alessia’s POVI squeezed my eyes shut.The metal barrel pressed cold and steady against my forehead. I could feel the ridged texture of the silencer, the faint vibration of the man’s hand. My heart thundered so violently I thought it might burst before the bullet did. Every breath tasted like blood and dust. Every second stretched into eternity.I waited for the end.For the pressure. For the flash and for death. But nothing came.Only a soft, metallic click.The gun was empty. A beat of stunned silence.Then the man holding my hair cursed under his breath. “Merda.”The woman snarled from somewhere behind him. “You idiot! Reload!”The pressure on my scalp eased as the man shifted, fumbling. My head fell forward, chin to chest. I sucked in a ragged breath, it was a half-sob and a half-laugh. I was alive, for now.And then the world exploded.Gunfire erupted outside. I heard shouts in Italian. The crash of a metal door made me jerk.The kidnappers spun toward the noise.“Che cazzo—” one
His Queen,Their War Chapter Eighty Two
Alessia’s POVThe first thing I felt was the cold. It seeped through the thin fabric of my coat, through my skin, into my bones. I felt the concrete underneath me and damn was it rough. My wrists were bound behind my back with zip ties that cut deeper every time I moved. My ankles were tied too, forcing me into an awkward sitting position against a metal support beam in the middle of what smelled like an abandoned warehouse.I inhaled dust. I saw oil around and some blood. Somewhere water dripped in a slow, maddening rhythm.My head throbbed. Whatever they had injected me with left a chemical burn in my veins and a fog in my brain. I remembered the park, the van, the prick in my neck. After that, only fragments: being dragged across gravel, a hood over my head, the slam of a door.Now the hood was gone. Dim light filtered through cracked skylights high above, painting everything in sickly gray. Stacks of rotting crates and broken machinery loomed like silent witnesses. The air was s
His Queen,Their War Chapter Eighty One
Salvatore’s POVI should have been halfway to Francesca’s parents with a box of pastiera on the passenger seat, ready to marriage. Instead I sat in the small security office off the garage, staring at the bank of monitors that showed every camera in and around the penthouse.Something felt wrong.It had been gnawing at me since dawn. A restlessness I could not name. I had canceled the visit to Francesca’s family with a short message. She would be furious. Her father would demand explanations. I did not care.Alessia had left the building alone at 9:42 a.m. I watched the recording now, frame by frame. She wore the camel coat, the long cream scarf, hair loose down her back. She looked calm, almost peaceful, as she stepped into the elevator. The doors closed. The lobby camera caught her crossing the marble floor, nodding to the doorman, disappearing through the revolving doors into the bright winter light.After that, nothing.No camera covered the street directly in front, only the side
His Queen,Their War Chapter Eighty
~Francesca’s POV~The clock on my bedroom wall ticked louder than it ever had before. 11:47 a.m. He was supposed to be here by ten.Salvatore.I had waited for this day for months. Today he was meant to come to my parents’ house, sit at our dining table, drink my father’s grappa, and finally set a date for the wedding we had talked about for centuries!. My mother had prepared braciole. My father had worn his best suit. I had chosen the pale blue dress he once said made my eyes look like the sea in Calabria.And he had not come.There was no call, no message. Nothing! I even tried calling him but all my calls went to voicemail.I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt for the hundredth time, but my hands shook. The reflection staring back looked perfect: hair curled, makeup flawless, smile practiced. Inside, everything was unraveling.He was slipping away. I had felt it for weeks. Ever since he took that “bodyguard” post. Ever since he started guarding Alessia.The name tast
His Queen,Their War Chapter Seventy Nine
Alessia’s POVSaturday morning arrived soft and gray, the kind of Sicily's winter light that made everything feel hushed. Lorenzo had left early for a weekend or for some few days in Portofino with friends. He kissed my cheek on his way out, murmured something about shopping if I wanted, and disappeared. The penthouse settled into silence.Guila was home, but she got her eyes glued to documents. She waved me off when I offered help, telling me to relax, to take my usual Saturday stroll through the city. Normally I would have. I loved wandering the streets and stopping for a cappuccino.But today my feet carried me somewhere else.I told myself it was curiosity. Just one more look, just to confirm I hadn’t imagined the sketches, the perfume and the photographs. Just to prove to myself that it had been real and not some fevered dream born of sleeplessness and guilt.I knew Salvatore wouldn’t be home. He had mentioned earlier to Lorenzo quietly, and professionally that he had personal bu
His Queen,Their War Chapter Seventy Eight
Alessia’s POVI could not sleep.The penthouse was too quiet, the kind of quiet that amplified every thought until it screamed. Lorenzo had gone to bed hours ago in the guest suite. I lay in the dark of the master bedroom, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything on an endless loop.The way Salvatore had seized that man by the throat today. The raw fury in his grip. The way his eyes had flicked to me afterward, checking, always checking, that I was unharmed.It was more than duty. It had to be.Guila had told me he refused every other woman. That he had asked to guard me personally. That he had carried a backup dress like he had foreseen sabotage. But she had never said the word love. She had danced around it, she wanted me to fill in the terrifying blanks myself.What if it wasn’t love at all?What if it was something darker? Obsession. A game he was playing with my head because he could. Because a former Don might enjoy the quieter thrill of making a married woman unravel withou
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