LOGINEighteen-year-old Liora Voss makes the fatal mistake of witnessing a murder within the 'Ndrangheta. Kidnapped by the Green brothers and taken to New York, she finds herself thrust into a world where loyalty comes at a steep price and every secret can become a death sentence. Heros, the ruthless capo; Noah, the calculating strategist; Lohan, the man who resorts to brutal methods; Zedekiah, the unpredictable one; and Luther, haunted by his own demons. Bound by the Law of Brotherhood, these five men are accustomed to imposing their rules and never losing control. But Liora refuses to be broken. Behind her fear lies a fierce will, and beneath her silence, a determination no one anticipated. In a world ruled by violence, fragile alliances, and buried secrets, she must learn to survive without losing herself. What begins as a nightmare transforms into a battle where every decision can change everything. Amid betrayals, power struggles, and dangerous truths, Liora discovers that her greatest strength might be enough to shake the very foundations of the Green family. She is no longer just a prisoner. **She might become the one who changes all their destinies.**
View MorePRESENTPARIS, FRANCEThe days have been hectic and intense. Since Wednesday, when she sent me the message saying she wouldn't return to Maison after lunch with her team, I've been a mix of worry and curiosity. I sent several messages, but she didn't reply to any of them.The security guard I hired to monitor Elizabeth sent a laconic report on Wednesday afternoon:"MISS SMIRNOV LEFT THE RESTAURANT BEFORE DESSERT, RETURNED TO HER APARTMENT, AND HASN'T LEFT SINCE."The hours dragged on without any sign of her, and my instinct screamed that something was wrong.The next morning, before the sun had fully illuminated the rooftops of Paris, I was already in front of her building, my hands shoved in my coat pockets against the damp cold of dawn. The doorman — after a generous bribe — let me up to her floor.After confirming she was fine and that her sudden absence was only due to hormonal issues, I left. Still, I had the feeling she was still hiding something from me.Now I find myself here
PAST — 7 YEARS AGOPARIS, FRANCE — OLIVIER'S MANSIONThe smell of gasoline and charred flesh still hangs in the air when the phone rings. The final report is succinct:✘ Three warehouses reduced to ashes.✘ Two contacts eliminated.✘ One traitor hung like a slaughtered animal from the port bridge, his throat slit from ear to ear.A lesson in raw flesh for anyone who dared to follow his path.It took an entire year.A year of silence. A year in which I almost came to believe that the old Pakhan had lost his balls along with the respect of his bratki.But Pyotr Petrov was not a man who forgot.He was just picking up the pieces. Rebuilding his connections. Trying to figure out how to strike me without putting his own head in the crosshairs.Pathetic.Does he really think this scares me? That a few material losses will make me back down?The allies who fled were weak. The businesses that burned can be rebuilt.But Pyotr doesn't see the bigger game.While he was distracted burning my depot
I'm in the living room of my apartment, the warmth of the coffee between my hands barely masking the tension in the air. Vasily is sitting across from me, his blue eyes fixed on me, while Yakov paces the room, restless."I already know how to make Michael appear," I say, my voice firmer than I expected.Yakov stops walking, his eyebrows rising."If he's using public cameras, it's no use just taking them down once," he mutters. "He'll find another angle.""Then we'll take away all the angles." My voice is cold, calculating.Vasily crosses his arms, the muscles tense under his black shirt."How?"I pause, looking at both of them."Our father can help us again."Yakov lets out a low laugh.Vasily crosses his arms."So the idea is to cut off his vision?""Not just cut it off. Deceive him." I lean forward. "If he can no longer access the cameras on nearby streets or at Maison Dumont, he'll have to get physically closer to watch us. And when he does...""We get him," Yakov completes, the cor
Henri rips the paper off with a sharp movement. Luca groans, spitting out a thread of saliva and blood."Who was it?" Henri asks, his voice so cold that even the rain seems to hesitate as it falls.Luca chokes, trying to form words, but only manages to stammer:"Th-They... wanted Elizabeth."My stomach twists like a caged animal. Jean is already beside me, pressing a tactical knife into my hand before I even realize I asked for it."How many?" I ask, my voice hoarse.Luca trembles."Four... but they weren't Russians. They spoke... our language."Henri and I exchange a look.Shit.If it wasn't Pyotr, then it was someone who knew too much about me — about us. Someone who discovered the weak point I myself refused to admit I was creating.I became a ghost.For years, I paid in gold and blood to erase my trail from the world. Photographers were bribed or threatened before they could press the shutter. Security cameras "failed" mysteriously when I passed by. Even the facial recognition alg
Luther GreenThe office was submerged in shadows. Only the desk lamp partially lit my brothers’ faces, casting long shadows that danced across the dark walls. The tension was thick, almost electric. I couldn’t stay still. I paced back and forth, my body vibrating with an explosive mix of anxiety, p
Zedekiah GreenThe weak light from the bulb swung from the ceiling like a broken pendulum, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed alive on the damp walls of the basement. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of mold and rust and the subtle scent of fear I had learned to recognize so well.A
Noah GreenHeros gathered us in the office and told us everything. Luther’s growing obsession with Liora. How he saw in her a chance for redemption, a living shadow of Alicia. After many questions, we finally understood the real reason behind the Brotherhood Law—the rule our eldest brother created
Liora VossI woke to the constant sound of dripping water. Ploc. Ploc. Ploc. A slow, relentless rhythm echoing off the damp concrete walls, marking time like a macabre clock. The heavy smell of mold and wet earth filled my nostrils, mixed with something metallic I preferred not to identify. The dar
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