Mag-log inKingdom of Ash and Blood Book one of the Sicilian Ruin Series She was the fire he thought he had extinguished. He was the ruin she barely escaped. Three years ago Amara Varela vanished without a trace --- betrayed, broken, and hunted by the man who once owned her heart. Now she's back in Sicily, not as the naive girl he left behind, but as a woman forged by survival and secrets. She has a score to settle and Luca Moretti is at the top of her list Luca, the heir to the brutal Moretti empire, never forgives himself for losing her. When he finally finds her alive, everything he buried erupts --- lust, rage, obsession. But the Kingdom he now rules is built on blood, and his bride-to-be is not the one who haunts his dreams. Torn between a crown he never wanted and a woman who could destroy it all, Luca must choose loyalty or desire, power or love. In a world of violent cartels, arranged alliances, and ruthless vendettas, Amara and Luca's reunion is anything but tender. It's a war. And their passion? It could burn Sicily to the ground. Dark. Obsessive. Addictive. This is not a love story. This is a Sicilian ruin.
view moreAvery's POV
"If you drop her one more time, Brianna, I will pull you from the lineup myself." The whole gym froze. The music was still playing but nobody was moving. It suddenly became just twelve girls staring at me like I had said something in a foreign language, which I guess I had, because nobody on this squad ever talked to Brianna Holloway like that. At least not to her face. Not out loud. Brianna turned around slowly. She had that smile she always wore, the pretty one that made coaches think she was sweet. But I had been watching her for two years. I knew exactly what that smile meant. "Excuse me?" she said. "You heard me." I walked toward her, keeping my voice steady. "That's the second time today you came off that stunt before Priya was set. If I hadn't stepped in just now, she would have landed on her wrist." "I called the count," Brianna said, with a small shrug. "That's not my fault." "You called it fast on purpose and you know it." "Avery." She tilted her head like I was being difficult. "I'm just trying to make us better. Some people need to be pushed." "And some people need to be checked," Jade said, stepping up beside me. "You've 'accidentally' botched three catches this week. All three of them Priya. Should we talk about the odds on that?" Brianna looked between us. I could see her deciding something behind those pretty eyes. "I'm just a team player doing my best," she said sweetly. "But okay. Whatever you say, Captain." She said the last word the way people say it when they want you to know it bothers them that it's true. Brianna had run for squad captain at the start of the year. She had lost to me by nine votes. She had smiled through the announcement, hugged me in front of everyone, and then spent the next eight months making my life and the lives of anyone close to me as difficult as she possibly could. "From the top," I said, turning to face the rest of the squad. "Full routine. Sharp and clean." Practice ran for another forty minutes after that. Brianna was perfect. Of course she was. She always performed like an angel when she wanted to prove a point, and right now her point was that I had no good reason to come at her. Every move was on time. Every smile hit its mark. She even helped Priya reset after one of the jumps and patted her on the shoulder like they were best friends. I hated how good she was at this. After cool-down, Coach Vega dismissed us and the girls broke into their usual groups, grabbing bags and water bottles and picking up where their conversations had left off. Brianna left without looking at me, which told me more than any look could have. "She's going to make you pay for that," Jade said, falling into step beside me as we headed for the bleachers where our bags were. "Let her try." "Avery. I'm serious." "So am I." I picked up my bag and checked my phone. One new message. I smiled before I even finished reading it. *Can't stop thinking about tonight. Pick you up at seven. Wear something nice, birthday girl.* "Colton?" Jade asked. "Yes." "Still doing dinner?" "Seven o'clock." I dropped the phone into my bag. "But I want to see him before that. He said he's been in his room all afternoon. I'm going to stop at the bakery on Fifth and grab him those lemon cookies he likes, then head over and surprise him." Jade stared at me. "It's your birthday." "I know." "He should be surprising you." "I know that too." I laughed. "But I want to see him. Is that a crime?" "It's deeply unfair to the rest of us who have no one to be that happy about," she said. Then she pulled me into a hug. "Go. Have fun. Call me the second you get home tonight." "Every single detail," I promised. The bakery line was longer than I expected, so it was almost four by the time I crossed the east side of campus toward Colton's building. I had the cookies in a small paper bag and my hair still pulled back from practice and I did not care even a little, because it was my birthday and I was going to see my boyfriend and the evening was going to be perfect. Colton Reeves had been mine for seven months. He was the captain of the football team, and the kind of guy who remembered small things without being asked. He knew how I took my coffee. He remembered my mom's name and asked about her. He texted good morning without needing a reason. After a year of Crestwood feeling like too much noise and not enough warmth, he had been exactly what I needed. He gave me a key to his room two months ago. I used it now without knocking. The afternoon sun was coming straight through his window when I pushed the door open, bright enough that I saw everything clearly, all at once, with no shadows to make it softer or give me even a second to look away. Colton was on the bed. He was not alone. "Oh my God." I heard my own voice like it was coming from somewhere outside my body. Colton scrambled back so fast he nearly fell off the mattress. "Avery — wait — this is not —" "Not what?" I couldn't move. My feet had stopped working. "Not what it looks like? Is that what you're about to say to me right now?" "Just let me explain —" The girl sat up slowly and pushed her hair back from her face, and my stomach dropped straight through the floor. Brianna Holloway looked right at me. And smiled.When I first started writing Kingdom of Ash and Blood, I never imagined how far this story would carry me. What began as a spark — a single image of a woman standing in the ruins of her past — became a journey that taught me more about strength, love, and survival than I ever thought a story could. Amara Varela was born out of silence and fury. She was every broken piece of the women the world underestimated, every scar turned into armor. Through her, I explored what it means to take back your power when the world has already written your ending. And Luca Moretti — cold, relentless, and devastatingly human — was her reflection. The storm to her fire. Together, they were never meant to be perfect. They were meant to be real. From the streets of Palermo to the crypts beneath Sicily, from betrayal to redemption, this series became more than just a dark romance — it became a story about what love looks like when it’s forged in ruin. About two people who refused to stay victims of their
Amara Sicily smelled of salt and wildflowers again. Not smoke. Not blood. For the first time in years, the air didn’t taste like war. The Moretti estate—once blackened by fire—now shimmered beneath the morning sun. New stone replaced the ruins, vines coiling around marble pillars, and the fountain that once ran red now poured clean water again. I stood at the edge of the garden my mother planted before she died. Lavender and rosemary swayed with the wind, fragile but alive—just like me. The crown rested on the stone bench beside me. Black metal, scorched and broken down the middle. I hadn’t worn it in months. Queenship had become a ghost I no longer needed to chase. There was peace in my quiet now. Not the peace of surrender, but of survival. I touched the scars on my wrist, faint reminders of chains long gone. Every mark was a memory. Every ache was proof. The world had called me the Queen of Death. But what they never understood was that I fought so life could mean somethin
AMARA The world ended quietly. No trumpet, no screams — just wind moving through ruins that once echoed with blood and glory. The fire had devoured everything: the altars, the armies, the prayers. All that remained was silence… and us. I buried Damien’s crown beneath the blackened soil of Saint Helena, my fingers raw and trembling. It wasn’t gold anymore — just ash and bone fused together, cold as regret. “I thought I’d feel something,” I whispered. Luca stood behind me, a strip of cloth wrapped around his arm where the flames had kissed him. “You do,” he said softly. “You just don’t recognize it yet.” “What is it then?” “Freedom.” I let out a fragile laugh. “Freedom feels a lot like grief.” “Maybe they’re the same thing.” We rebuilt nothing. The world didn’t need another empire. It needed to remember what it was before crowns existed. So I gave it that — silence, space, the slow ache of healing. The villa was gone, the sea burned black at the edges. Yet somewhere in t
AMARA By dawn, the cult had multiplied. From the cliffs, I watched hundreds gather on the shoreline, torches burning even as rain fell. They chanted his name like scripture, eyes glowing with the fever of the faithful. Saint of Fire, burn away our sins. Saint of Fire, cleanse our flesh. It would’ve been almost beautiful, if it wasn’t so terrifying. Luca stood behind me, rifle slung over his shoulder, his expression cut from stone. The world below us was collapsing into worship, and somehow I was supposed to stop it — or become what they feared most. “The longer they kneel,” I murmured, “the faster his legend spreads.” “Then we cut off the tongue,” Luca said. “End it before it takes root.” “You can’t kill faith,” I whispered. “It resurrects itself.” He turned to me. “Then what are you saying?” I looked down at the sea of flames. “If we can’t kill their god…” My voice dropped, cold as steel. “…we replace him.” That was how it began — not with a coronation or prophecy, but
AMARA They said the Tiber ran black for three days after Damien burned. Some called it a sign of his ascension — others, his damnation. I called it what it was: blood and ash dissolving in a river that had seen too much of both. I stood on the bridge where I’d told Luca to scatter me. Only now,
AMARA Smoke clung to my lungs like a confession I couldn’t exhale. Rome was burning. Not with holy fire, but something older — something that smelled like revenge. From the balcony of the ruined monastery, I watched the Vatican spire crumble into itself. Bells tolled wildly, as if heaven itself
AMARA The road to Rome began with silence. No guards, no parades, no Syndicate banners — just a black car cutting through the cracked Sicilian highway as dawn spilled gold across the hills. The world outside was changing. Fields once green had withered to gray. Churches burned in the distance. T
AMARA The gates of Palermo had never looked so foreign. The banners of the Syndicate — black silk stitched with a gold crown — hung limp in the rain. And beneath them, for the first time in years, came a procession that dared to walk openly through my city wearing the white and crimson of Rome.
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