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In the Arms of Danger
最終更新日:
2025-02-27 21:50:56
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Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife A Dagger Straight to the Heart
Minutes after she arrived, the door closed behind her with a soft click, but in Salvi's soul, it sounded like a verdict slammed shut.The silence that followed was crueler than any insult.The video was still open on the screen. Frozen at the exact moment Luciana pulled away from him, her eyes filled with disappointment. Her voice still echoed in his head:"I won't be your refuge anymore. No more."Salvi shut the laptop lid with anger, but without strength. Then he dropped into his chair, his face buried in his hands. He was breathing like a man drowning.And he was.There was no refuge anymore. Cassandra wouldn't forgive him. Luciana had rejected him. And now, that woman — Isabela — had him in her claws. She was bleeding him dry, slowly, with a cold smile and steady hands.Salvi stood up, walked to the window, opened it and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. It had been years since he last smoked. He
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife A Cold Godbye
The next morning at the Salvi houseThe aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated in the air, but it couldn't dispel the cold that had settled in the Salvis' kitchen.Vittorio came down the stairs with slumped shoulders, as if each step brought him closer to the abyss.He found Cassandra sitting at the table, a cup in her hands. Impeccable. Silent. As always. But something was different.She didn’t look at him. Not even once. She was there… and yet, absent.—Good morning, —he said, his voice hoarse and dry.She looked up, but her expression was neutral. There was no trace of last night’s tears. No reproach. Only a frigid calm. One Vittorio recognized immediately. Because that calm was his. The same he used with the most dangerous criminals when he wanted them to talk.—Did you sleep well? —Cassandra asked, with mechanical politeness.—Not much, —he replied, trying to read her thoughts.There was a heavy silence unt
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife Borders
The echo of the door clicking shut still vibrated against the walls of Salvi’s office when he suddenly stood up.The chair screeched violently as it was shoved back, hitting the wall behind him.For a few seconds, only the sound of his rage-filled breathing filled the room.His chest rose and fell as if he had just run a marathon.He looked at the envelope. He didn’t touch it.The photo of Grazia—his daughter—was still there, pinned like a dagger.Her childlike face, so much like his own, so pure, so unaware of the hell closing in around her.Then he shifted his gaze to the corner of the desk, where a photo of Cassandra, his legal wife, sat.She smiled in a garden full of lavender, holding onto his arm as if they were truly happy.— “Goddamn it!” — Salvi growled, and with a sweeping motion, cleared the surface of the desk, sending papers, pens, and his coffee mug crashing to the floor.The rage devo
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife The Ace Up the Sleeve
Outside, the light rain veiled the rooftops with an almost invisible curtain.Inside, in the basement of an old building that served as the operations center for the “Wolves” unit, a man watched three screens at once.He had a shaved head, steel-colored eyes, and a scar across his chin — a reminder of the unofficial wars he had fought.His name was Dante, one of the most loyal soldiers to Isabela Moretti, and also the most dangerous. In another life, he had been part of a tactical intelligence unit, until the system betrayed him and he joined the “Wolves,” a unit trained by Isabela’s father.Once Andreas was murdered and Isabela asked Alejandro to hide them in Italy, Dante swore loyalty — first to Isabela and then to Alejandro Moretti.Since then, he rented out his talents to the highest bidder. But with the Morettis, he didn’t charge. He only owed favors.Isabela had asked him to trac
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife Silken Claws, Steel Mind
Moretti Mansion — 10:45 p.m.The sound of the engines fading away left an echo that refused to die. The flashing lights of the police vehicles still danced in the reflection of the windows, like a reminder of the unreal.A dense, suffocating stillness filled the entire house.Isabela slowly descended the marble staircase. The heel of her sandals echoed hollowly, funereally. She stopped on the last step, her gaze lost in the now-closed gate. The air seemed to weigh tons.—They took him... —she whispered, more to herself than to the servants and guards who pretended not to breathe behind the columns.She let the glass in her hand fall. There was no shatter. The crystal rolled and clinked softly, as if it too knew better than to break the silence.Then, the unthinkable happened.A dry, savage roar burst from her chest. She ripped off her silk coat and threw it to the ground. She stormed into the house as if h
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife The Fall of the Untouchable
The city trembled under the constant rain, as if trying to wash away its own conscience. But for Vittorio Salvi, the water cleansed nothing. Each drop was a reminder of his failure, of the impunity that rose with the face of a king and the perfume of a queen.Salvi’s office, usually a mess of papers and spilled coffee, had been transformed into a kind of war room. On the corkboard, photos pinned with red tacks drew lines toward names, locations, front businesses, legal aliases and street nicknames.Alejandro Moretti was at the center, of course, but the real challenge was the figure holding everything from the shadows: Isabela Moretti. But she was clean and untouchable.Salvi didn’t say it to anyone, but he had begun to fear her more than Alejandro himself.— That damn woman has steel teeth and lava in her veins instead of blood. Alejandro’s luckier than he thinks to have her as a wife…— I’d like to think my wife woul
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife A Personal Matter
The rain fell without strength, but with persistence, as if the sky refused to let the day dawn in peace.In an old shed on the outskirts of the city, hidden under a false name and documents bought with the urgency of fear, Ramiro tried to sleep with a pistol under his pillow and his conscience devouring his soul.He had done the unthinkable.He had talked.He had signed papers, handed over documents.He had sold out Alejandro Moretti.His former boss.The man to whom he had sworn loyalty.Now, he hoped the law would protect him from what was coming next.But the law didn’t know the whole picture.Alejandro Moretti wasn’t alone.A soft knock on the door made him sit up abruptly.Three knocks. Then silence.—“Who is it?” he shouted, his voice rough.—“It’s me, brother.” The voice on the other side of the door was warm. Familiar.Ramiro breathed out, approached the door w
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife Wounded Lion
Isabela’s kisses had calmed, for a moment, the whirlwind of thoughts assaulting his soul.Alejandro had always prided himself on staying one step ahead of his enemies, but he had never imagined the enemy would be living under his own roof.That he had unknowingly opened the doors of his home—and his heart—to him.Alejandro valued Ramiro. He considered him his greatest ally, a friend.— This damn business destroys loyalties and affections — he murmured to himself.Looking at Isabela sleeping beside him, Alejandro felt a hollow in his stomach.The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon seeping through the linen curtains.Isabela slept deeply, wrapped in white sheets, her serene expression contrasting with the storm Alejandro carried inside.He had loved her body with desperation, like someone clinging to a last breath before drowning.But neither her skin, nor he
Queen of Hell. The Mafia Boss’s Wife Shadows in Suit and Tie
Villa Moretti woke up under an overcast sky. The sea, which usually roared with poetic strength, seemed unusually silent that morning. As if it too sensed that something ominous was coming.Alejandro had been awake since before dawn. He hadn’t slept well since Salvi’s name reappeared on his radar.He checked every message, every email, every file, as if he could catch a ghost before it slipped through his walls.Sitting in front of the large window in his study, his eyes were fixed on the fog over the cliff. In his lap, the Protocollo Nero dossier lay open.A map of connections, allies, enemies, possible traitors, and dormant accounts in tax havens. Each page, a piece of his empire. Each red mark, a target.—Did you get any sleep? —asked Isabela, walking in with a silk coat and her hair still damp.Alejandro closed the dossier and slid it back into the safe.—Sleep is for those without enemies at cour
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