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Chapter 80
Last Updated:
2025-12-24 18:02:10
Latest chapter
His Trophy His War Chapter 85
His Trophy, His War—Hers NowIl Giardino’s patio glittered under string lights as Livia poured wine into crystal glasses, her movements confident, unhurried. Six months ago, she’d been a hostage in a concrete room; tonight, she was the host of her own restaurant, its linen white, its tables full of laughter, its kitchen humming with the scents of rosemary and garlic.Alessandro watched from the doorway, his suit crisp, his gun long buried in a safe he never opened. He’d traded violence for balance sheets, enemies for employees. The shipping business operated within the law now, its routes transparent, its profits clean.“You’ve outdone yourself,” he murmured, stepping behind her, his hands settling on her waist.She leaned into him, the silk of her black dress catching the light. “This place breathes. It’s alive.”“Like you.”She turned in his arms, her green eyes catching the glow of the lanterns. “Do you ever miss it? The power? The fear?”He brushed a strand of auburn hair from her
His Trophy His War Chapter 84
The Balcony at Dawn“What now?”Alessandro’s voice was soft against the quiet hum of Milan waking below. He stood beside Livia on the penthouse balcony, the city spread out before them like a kingdom they’d fought for and finally won. No sirens sliced the air. No burner phones buzzed with threats in the dark. No shadows moved at the edge of vision. Just peace—still and wide and theirs.Livia leaned against the railing, the morning air cool on her skin. Dawn painted the skyline in soft gold and rose, washing away the blood and smoke of the last two years. She turned to Alessandro, her green eyes clear, her face finally free of the tension that had lived there for so long.“You’re not my saviour,” she said, her voice steady, sure. “You’re my partner. And that’s enough.”He didn’t answer right away. Just reached for her hand, his fingers lacing through hers with a gentleness that still surprised her—this man who’d once claimed her at a poker table like she was nothing more than a prize.
His Trophy His War Chapter 83
The Final Verdict“Life without parole.”The judge’s words hung in the courtroom like a blade falling on stone. No flourish. No drama. Just truth—cold, final, and unshakable.Antonio Russo didn’t flinch. He sat perfectly still in the defendant’s chair, his tailored suit hanging loose on his frame, his eyes fixed on the floor. But Livia saw it—the tremor in his knuckles, the way his throat worked as he swallowed the last of his power.Silence spread through the gallery like ink in water. Reporters stopped scribbling. Councillors stopped shifting. Even the guards at the doors seemed to hold their breath.Then the gavel struck.“Court adjourned.”Russo finally looked up.His eyes found Livia in the front row—calm, composed, dressed in a charcoal suit that bore no trace of the woman he once tried to break. For a heartbeat, she saw it all in his gaze: rage, disbelief, and beneath it, something worse—emptiness. The hollow crater left when a man’s empire crumbles and he realizes he built it
His Trophy His War Chapter 82
No Chains Left“You’re not waiting for peace. You’re building it.”Livia’s words hung in the air like smoke from the dying fire. She stood in the midpoint of the penthouse bedroom—the same one where Dante used to stagger in drunk, where she once hid bruises beneath silk, where she learned to sleep with one eye open.Now, the only sound was the soft crackle of flames consuming his past.Alessandro leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her. He hadn’t moved since she’d walked in alone an hour ago. He hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t tried to soothe. He’d just let her face it—the ghost, the cage, the man who’d once claimed her like a trophy on a shelf.Now, the wedding band she’d worn for three years—the one Dante had slipped on her finger with a smirk and a debt—disintegrated in the fireplace, embered to nothing.She turned to him, her eyes clear, her shoulders unburdened for the first time in years. “I kept it longer than I should have.”“Why?” he asked, voice low, stepping into
His Trophy His War Chapter 81
The SurrenderRain slicked the precinct steps as Livia stepped out of the black sedan, her coat pulled tight against the Milan chill. The courthouse glowed behind her, Russo’s sentencing still echoing in her bones. Empty verdict. Life without parole. No smirk. No rage. Just the hollow stare of a king without a kingdom.Alessandro lingered beside her, his hand brushing her lower back, silent but present. They hadn’t spoken since the gavel fell. There was nothing left to say about Russo.But a text from Rossi had changed everything.Dante’s in holding. Wants to see you.Livia hadn’t hesitated. “I’ll go.”Now, under flickering fluorescent lights inside Interrogation Room 3, she sat across from the man who once gambled her away like a bottle of cheap wine.Dante looked nothing like the man from the poker den.His suit hung loose on his frame. His hands trembled in his lap. His eyes—once sharp with arrogance—were sunken, bloodshot, stripped of their shine.“You came,” he said, voice rough,
His Trophy His War Chapter 80
Empire SecuredLivia stood on the observation deck of the newly rebranded Moretti Logistics HQ, a steaming espresso in hand, her auburn hair catching the light. Below, workers moved crates with steady rhythm—no whispers, no fear. Just business. Clean. Legitimate.Alessandro joined her, his suit crisp, the faint scar on his jaw shadowed by morning stubble. He handed her a manila folder. “Final transfer complete. All assets moved under Il Giardino Holdings.”She opened it. Bank statements. Property deeds. Corporate restructures—all scrubbed clean, fully compliant, legally airtight. The €4.3 million from Russo’s villa now flowed through restaurants, shipping manifests, boutique imports. No trace of blood. No whisper of fire.“We’re untouchable,” he said, voice low.Livia traced the embossed letterhead of the top document: Il Giardino Holdings – CEO: Livia Rossi.She smiled. “Not untouchable. Just unbreakable.”Down in the city, the headlines still screamed Russo’s downfall—but now they a
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