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Chapter Thirteen
Last Updated:
2025-06-28 14:28:56
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Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Castello Nero loomed like a myth stitched into the bleeding dusk, its silhouette jagged and cruel against the Andalusian sky. It wasn’t a palace. It was a cage with velvet walls, and Amara was the most precious captive it held. She stood on the rooftop terrace, wind tangling her curls as she looked toward the Sierra Nevada mountains. The chill had teeth tonight. Somewhere in the halls below, Milo Nero was entertaining investors, and every echo of laughter rising from the banquet room made her fists curl tighter on the stone balustrade. She wasn’t invited. She wasn’t allowed. She was watched—constantly. Since the confrontation in the cellar days ago, Milo had kept her under tighter control. Her room was guarded. Her phone? Confiscated. And her mother? Still locked away in a wing she wasn’t allowed to enter. The bastard was keeping them both as leverage. But Amara knew men like him. They never held power as tightly as they thought. Her pulse thudded when soft footsteps a
Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Eight
The ancient villa in the Albaicín district burned beneath the morning sun like an omen. Ivory walls kissed by firelight, iron balconies dripping with bougainvillaea — the kind of beauty that mocked the blood still drying in Amara’s hair. She didn’t flinch when Mateo peeled open the heavy wooden doors and motioned her inside. “I’ll wait here,” he muttered, voice low, eyes sweeping the alley with the sharpness of a man who never forgot what it was to be hunted. Amara crossed the threshold, every instinct burning. Her boots echoed through a vast hall — the kind that reeked of old Spanish money and something colder. Something darker. She was shown into a library. Shadows clung to its high ceilings like secrets. He was waiting for her. Milo Nero. Her mother’s captor. The man who’d kept Isabel Varela hidden like a ghost for nearly two decades. He rose slowly from the armchair, tall, dark-haired, with eyes the color of dead leaves. Wrinkled but powerful, with a quiet kind of menace —
Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Seven
The villa in Granada was supposed to be a sanctuary. Luca’s men had swept every room, stationed guards along the perimeter, and tripled security. But by midnight, the silence was too loud, and Amara felt more exposed than ever.She sat by the large window in the guest chamber, her knees tucked under her robe, staring at the velvet sky. The desert wind kissed the hills in a ghost’s lullaby, and yet her blood simmered. Milo Nero’s words haunted her."Your mother wasn’t taken. She chose to stay."A lie. It had to be. Isabel Varela wouldn’t have abandoned her daughter. Wouldn’t have watched their cartel fall into ruin without a fight. But then again, Milo’s tone hadn’t held triumph—it held pity.Behind her, the door creaked open.She didn’t need to turn to know it was Luca.His presence always filled a room like smoke. Dark. Claustrophobic. Inescapable.“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly, stepping inside.“Not with devils in the walls,” she murmured. “Or in my bed.”Luca chuckled, but there w
Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Six
The air in Granada was laced with ghosts.Amara stood on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, staring at the quiet alleyway below. The night had settled thick and hot, pressing against her skin like sweat. Far below, the lanterns of the old quarter flickered with a kind of ancient sorrow—like the city itself remembered the blood spilt on its cobbled streets.Her heart pounded in her chest.She hadn’t slept since discovering the underground prison beneath Milo Nero’s estate. Since she’d seen the woman locked behind the rusted bars. The woman with her eyes.Isabel.Her mother.Alive.But hollow.Amara had only been allowed a glance before Milo’s guards pulled her away, warning that anything more would require... negotiation.She clenched her fists at the memory. He’d baited her—dangled Isabel in front of her like meat before a starving wolf.And now Luca was coming.She didn’t know if that terrified her more than it comforted her.A soft voice behind her broke her thoughts.“You’ve barely m
Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Five
The vineyards of Sicily were drowning in golden light, but Luca Moretti saw only blood.He stood at the edge of his family’s estate, staring across the endless rows of Nero d’Avola vines, hands clenched behind his back, jaw locked. The wind stirred the edges of his navy shirt, whispering secrets he didn’t want to hear.Amara had gone to Granada. Alone. To meet Milo fucking Nero, and now she was silent.It had been eighteen hours since her last message. Three lines of cold truth:I found him, I found the truth, we need to talk.Each syllable clawed at his control. He wanted to scream. Wanted to board the jet and hunt her down himself.But he waited.Because to follow her now, without understanding, without power, would be playing directly into Milo’s hands. And Luca never played without knowing the game.Behind him, footsteps approached. Steady. Familiar.Sergio.“Boss,” his consigliere said quietly. “The council is waiting.”Luca didn’t turn. “Tell them to wait longer.”Sergio hesitat
Kingdom of Ash and Blood Chapter Thirty-Four
The heat of Granada clung to Amara like a second skin. Dry, stinging, and relentless, it bled through her black dress, absorbing the desert sun as though it craved fire. She stood outside the crumbling hacienda on the edge of the Alhambra’s ruins—where the past whispered through cracked mosaics and vine-choked fountains. This was Milo Nero’s estate, the last known location of her mother, Isabel Varela. Her pulse thundered beneath her ribs. Inside, answers waited. And monsters. “I don’t like this,” Matteo muttered behind her, fingers twitching near his belt. “Let me go in first.” Amara didn’t move. “He asked for me. Alone.” “He’s a cartel ghost, Amara. Worse than Luca.” His voice dipped, wary. “Promise me you’ll scream if you need me.” She gave a faint smile. “If I scream, it’s already too late.” Then she stepped through the rust-stained doors. — The interior reeked of dust, blood, and sandalwood. Dim light poured through latticed windows, scattering shadows across the tiles.
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