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หน้าหลัก / LGBTQ+ / Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL] / This is not art.

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This is not art.

ผู้เขียน: Noor
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-12-18 19:47:46

The Milan winter was a blade of steel-grey light and biting wind, a season that suited the new, hardened contours of their world. The Seoul trip had been a conclusive stroke, severing the last, frayed psychic tie to the past. Jay moved through the penthouse with a settled authority that was now bone-deep. The black ring and the wolf’s-head pin were not ornaments; they were integrated, like the fast-twitch muscles of a predator.

The legacy conversation, once a specter, began to take on architectural form. It started with a name: "The Aethelred Trust." Aethelred, from Jay's hastily constructed cover in Seoul. It meant "noble counsel." Rafe proposed it one evening over a game of chess, not in the study, but before the fireplace in the library. The firelight carved shadows into his sharp features.

"We need a vessel," Rafe said, moving his bishop with a soft click. "Something that exists beyond us. Beyond the names Bianchi, beyond the organization. A legal, financial entity that can hold a
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  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    He’s a leak.

    The blueprints for the Andalusian complex were spread across the vast table in the Puglia masseria, now a permanent southern command post. They depicted a sprawling symbiosis of technology and thirst: vast parabolic mirrors focusing desert sun onto saltwater, driving turbines and producing fresh water for a parched region. It was bigger, more complex, more politically delicate than Puglia. The Spanish minister, as Rafe noted, was pragmatic. His price was not just money, but a permanent, silent stake in the water rights—a piece of the most precious commodity in the region, forever.Jay was analyzing the hydrological surveys when the secure line from Como buzzed. It was Dr. Klein’s voice, strained but precise, the voice of a scientist reporting a breakthrough, not a prisoner begging for mercy.“The base compound is stable. The trigger mechanism works in vitro using the target’s unique pheromonal signature as the catalyst. It requires a preliminary dose to establish the… biochemical lock

  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    Why is he scared?

    The success in Puglia was a tectonic shift. It wasn't just a lucrative venture; it was a paradigm. The organization had mutated from a creature of ports and shadows into something with a legitimate, powerful, beating heart. The Aethelred Trust, once a shell, now pulsed with the clean, relentless current of megawatts and euros. Its board—a collection of discreet, world-class financiers and former politicians—met quarterly in Zurich, their discussions of bond yields and carbon credits a world away from the backroom whispers of Milan.Jay's role evolved once more. He was no longer the consort, the division head, or even the project lead. He was the Architect. Rafe remained the undisputed king, the source of ultimate authority and fear, but Jay had become the chief engineer of their future. His purview was "strategic expansion," a bland term that encompassed the colonization of markets and the subversion of governments.Lorenzo's irrelevance was now complete, a fact that turned his simmer

  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    The Sacra Corona Unita

    The green energy proposal was not a portfolio; it was a hydra. A consortium of solar fields and wind farms stretching across the arid, sun-scorched heel of Italy's boot, in Puglia. It was a perfect storm of opportunity and peril. The land was cheap, the sun and wind abundant, and the EU subsidies were a torrent of free money. It was also a quagmire of local mafia clans ("The Sacra Corona Unita"), Byzantine bureaucracy, politically connected construction firms, and environmental activists who could be either bought or turned into martyrs.Rafe hadn't given him a project. He'd given him a war on five fronts.Jay's first move was not to Puglia, but to Rome. He needed a political shield, a patron high enough to deflect the initial volleys of graft and obstruction. He bypassed the usual channels of bribes and went straight for the ultimate currency in Italian politics: a legacy.Using the nascent prestige of the Aethelred Trust, he orchestrated a "spontaneous" coalition of concerned Europe

  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    This is not art.

    The Milan winter was a blade of steel-grey light and biting wind, a season that suited the new, hardened contours of their world. The Seoul trip had been a conclusive stroke, severing the last, frayed psychic tie to the past. Jay moved through the penthouse with a settled authority that was now bone-deep. The black ring and the wolf’s-head pin were not ornaments; they were integrated, like the fast-twitch muscles of a predator.The legacy conversation, once a specter, began to take on architectural form. It started with a name: "The Aethelred Trust." Aethelred, from Jay's hastily constructed cover in Seoul. It meant "noble counsel." Rafe proposed it one evening over a game of chess, not in the study, but before the fireplace in the library. The firelight carved shadows into his sharp features."We need a vessel," Rafe said, moving his bishop with a soft click. "Something that exists beyond us. Beyond the names Bianchi, beyond the organization. A legal, financial entity that can hold a

  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    Only the power remains.

    The legacy conversation hung in the air between them, a specter at the feast of their daily power. It wasn't mentioned again, but its presence was felt in every delegated responsibility, in the way Rafe began to include Jay in discussions that spanned decades, not quarters—infrastructure investments, the grooming of a second-tier cadre of managers with potential loyalty to them both, the slow, careful distancing from certain volatile but lucrative markets in favor of more stable, long-term plays.Jay found himself studying not just balance sheets, but bloodlines. He knew which of the union boss's sons had a head for numbers, which port master's daughter was studying international law. He was learning to think in generations.His own past, the one he'd tried to seal in a tomb, found a new, bizarre way to haunt him. It arrived not as a ghost, but as an invitation.An ornate, paper envelope was delivered by a liveried courier. The address was calligraphed in English: Mr. Jay Bianchi. The

  • Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL]    To the foundation

    The watch was a covenant on his wrist, its silent sweep marking not just hours but a new era of calibrated existence. The penthouse, once a sterile classroom and barracks, now hummed with a dual authority. Jay’s "Culture Division" operated from a suite of rooms down the hall from the war room—a space of muted colors, climate-controlled vaults for digital archives, and large, clean screens displaying not shipping lanes, but provenance trails and the ever-fluctuating tastes of the global ultra-wealthy.His days were a ballet of connoisseurship and threat assessment. One moment he was authenticating a series of supposedly lost Renaissance sketches from a nervous Swiss banker, the next he was authorizing a covert extraction of a Ming vase from a heavily guarded estate in Taiwan, using a combination of digital sleight-of-hand and old-fashioned human greed. He moved money through NFT art sales and ancient gold coins with equal ease. The pipeline was indeed steel, and it was printing money.

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