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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Auteur: Ava Blake
last update Dernière mise à jour: 2025-01-26 22:07:26

Alfredo Fabri POV

It is often said that the only other thing that can kill a man aside himself is his past. I never believed that saying and had it been I didn't see Alexa on stage about to be auctioned off to some stranger, I'd have laughed you to scorn if you threw such a saying my way.

“Gina!” I called out for the umpteenth time, but she didn't even care to look back.

I had only just bidded on Alexa for a sum of $500,000, and Gina could wrap her head as to why I'd do such a thing, further dragging unwanted attention our way. There's a finite way Mafia dealings went down, and evidently, I'd brought a lot of things that had been locked up in the shadows, a chance at seeing the light once again.

Alexa and I were a couple during our teenage years. She was my first love, as cliche as that sounds. But it was way before any of this happened. Before I got to understand the meaning of life in itself, before I understood that a man had to forge his path or otherwise risk losing every
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  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

    The lights were low, golden, casting a honeyed sheen over the velvet-lined walls. Cigar smoke hung thick in the air, curling around the crystal chandelier like fingers unwilling to let go. Jazz played somewhere in the background—low, lazy, sultry—just enough to fill the spaces between silence and intent. The room smelled of expensive perfume, sweat, and gun oil, a cocktail of danger and pleasure that clung to everything.He sat in the center of it all, in a wide leather armchair that looked more like a throne. His suit was charcoal, the fabric soft and cut to precision, the shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo, ink faded with time, but still dangerous. His voice, when he spoke, was deep enough to still the room. It didn’t need to be raised. It was a voice that demanded silence, and it got it.The phone was a heavy, old-school rotary fixed to the table beside his drink. He liked the weight of it, the resistance in the dial, the way it felt like calling so

  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

    Alfredo Fabri's POV The room was warm with the scent of incense, amber and clove, slow-burning from the corner table. I sniffed repeatedly, surprised. What was all of this? The candlelight flickered, dancing across the curve of her bare shoulder, casting shifting shadows on the silk of her robe, deep crimson, tied loosely at the waist, clinging to the shape of her as though the fabric itself didn’t want to let go.I breathed, incense filling my senses as I watched her hover over the bed. She moved like water, each step calculated but appearing unbothered, aimless. Her hips swayed in that unthinking rhythm that wasn’t really unthinking at all. The fabric of her robe fluttered with each motion, revealing slivers of skin and then concealing them just as quickly, her neckline dipped low. The silk parted just enough to let my eyes wander, and I let them.She couldn't possibly be doing what I thought she was trying to do.I stood by the window, arms crossed, face unreadable. I watched her

  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

    Alexandra Dellarosa's POV “Roseville, please.” I begged, staring back at her to show that I felt what she felt, at the very least. My eyes searched hers for something, recognition, understanding, anything to prove that the pain between us was shared, not one-sided. I continued to grip her hands, hoping desperately that calm would return to her. My fingers held tighter than before, not out of force but out of fear, as if letting go might shatter what little steadiness we had left.I watched her eyes soften, hands dropping to cover her face before she broke down again. Her cries were deep and throaty, reflecting what she'd pent up all of this time. The tears had a familiarity to them, one that was strange and unprecedented, but there nonetheless and was to be taken as it was. So that was what I did. I accepted it. I opened up, taking her in my hands, and crying right along with her. I let go, no longer holding back, my arms tightening around her fragile frame as if I could steady both

  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

    Alexandra Dellarosa's POV A soft knock pulled me from my reverie. It wasn’t loud, nor was it urgent, but it was enough to break the quiet stretch of time that had held me captive. The morning had been lazy, the kind that drifted on without purpose. I opened my eyes to find the bed beside me empty, the space where someone else might have been only a faint echo of its usual warmth. I sighed and rolled over, stretching, the movement lazy and reluctant. The house around me was still, quiet in that way it had when no one else was awake, and for a moment, I just lay there, listening to the soft hum of my own thoughts.There was nothing to do, or so it seemed. I had long ago given up on any particular plan for the day, instead filling it with whatever came to mind. It had become routine, almost comforting. A slow, steady routine that I didn’t question. I got up, shuffled to the bathroom, and began the motions of getting ready for nothing. I brushed my teeth, chose my clothes from a wardrobe

  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

    Alfredo Fabri's POV The cold air clung to my face, sharp and biting as I moved through the trees. The scent of damp earth and pine filled my lungs, grounding me even as my heart thundered in my chest. I kept low, boots brushing silently over leaves and broken twigs. The others were close, their figures flickering like shadows between the trunks.I gripped my knife tighter, the worn leather handle warm in my palm. Ahead, the faint glow of lanterns lit the clearing where the trucks were parked. Voices carried on the wind, low and careless. They thought they were alone out here.I smiled grimly.The first one spotted us — a wiry man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. His mouth opened, breath curling in the cold. I lunged before he could speak. My knife caught him just below the ribs, punching through his jacket and sinking deep. He let out a wet grunt, fingers clawing at my wrist as his legs buckled. I twisted the blade and felt the strength leave him.The gunfire started before his

  • OMERTÀ   CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

    Alfredo Fabri's POV The road stretched out ahead, winding through narrow streets and past shuttered shops. Buildings loomed on either side, dark windows reflecting faint glimmers from our headlights. The others trailed behind me, their cars following close enough that I could see the faint shapes of faces in the mirrors. The street stores began taking their wares in, the clouds promising a grave rain, turning the sky a dark colour. The weight in my chest grew heavier with each turn. Something felt wrong, though I could not yet put a name to it.We reached the outskirts of the city, where cobbled streets gave way to dirt roads and open fields. The air seemed colder out here, the wind sharper as it whistled through the trees. Giovanni muttered something from the backseat, but I barely heard him. My eyes were fixed on the road ahead.The first shot cracked through the night like a whip. Glass shattered and I barely had time to curse before the windshield sprayed across my chest. I slam

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