LOGIN(Dual POV — Antonioni & Annabelle)Antonioni’s POVPeace.For the first time in my life, I understood what that word truly meant—not as an idea, not as something distant or imagined, but as something real… something I could sit in, breathe in, live in.It wasn’t power. It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t the empire I had built with blood, strategy, and relentless force.It was her. Annabelle.Everything I had once thought made me strong had only made me hard. But she… she had made me human again.The wedding in Dubai had been nothing short of grand, but for me, it wasn’t the scale, the wealth, or the influence that mattered.It was the moment she walked toward me.Choosing me again. That alone was everything. Fulfilling.
Antonioni’s POVGraduation days are supposed to feel loud. Full. Celebratory. With family.But when I saw her… It felt quiet. Deeply, overwhelmingly still.She stood there alone. No mother. No father. No husband. No siblings. No one visibly claimed that moment with her after everything she had endured to get there.And yet… She stood. Whole. Composed.Unshaken. Like everything she had been building toward had finally settled into place, and for once, life wasn’t dragging her backward or forcing her forward. It was simply… letting her stand.My chest tightened. Because I knew… She had learned how to stand without me.And that realization humbled me more than anything else ever had.I stayed where I was, watching her from a distance. Not approaching. Not interrupting. Just… observing.
Antonioni’s POVThe Park wasn't weak or unstable. Not anymore. It was just… quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after war. After blood. After loss. After victory.Everything was in place. Operations ran smoothly. Reports came in on time. Every sector of the Park breathed with order and precision. There were no sudden alarms, no betrayals lurking in corners, no fire waiting to be put out.For the first time in years… Nothing was falling apart. And yet… Something in me was.I sat at the head of the long table in the Dome, eyes scanning through documents I had already read twice. Numbers. Names. Routes. Security rotations. All intact.Perfect. Controlled. Mine. But my mind wasn’t there. It hadn’t been for a while.“Boss?” Matteo’s voice cut through the silence.I di
Annabelle’s POVGraduation days are supposed to feel loud. Full. Celebratory. With family. But mine felt… quiet, deeply, overwhelmingly still. I was all alone—no mother, no father, no husband, no siblings to cheer me on for two years of schooling.Like everything I had been building toward had finally settled into place, and for once, life wasn’t rushing me forward or dragging me backward. It was simply… letting me stand.I adjusted my gown slightly, fingers smoothing over the fabric as I stood among other graduates, laughter and chatter rising around me like a distant wave I wasn’t quite inside of.I smiled when necessary. Responded when spoken to. But my mind… My mind was elsewhere. Not in Spain. Not in the past. But in a space I hadn’t yet defined. A space that felt like waiting. Even though I told myself I wasn’t.My phone vibrated in my hand.I almost ignored it. Almost. But something…something quiet and familiar, made me look. Another transfer.My brows pulled together slightly
Annabelle’s POVMichigan felt… still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t suffocate you, but gives you space to finally hear yourself think.I hadn’t realized how loud my life had been recently until I stepped into the quiet. No gunfire. No tension sitting at the base of my spine.No constant need to look over my shoulder or measure every word before I spoke it.Just… me. And for the first time in a long time, that felt unfamiliar.My new house wasn’t extravagant. Not like Spain. Not like the Dome. Not like anything tied to Antonioni’s world. But it was mine.White walls, wide windows, soft light spilling into every corner. The kind of place that didn’t carry history or blood or secrets in its foundation. A place that allowed new things to grow.I remember standing in the empty living room the day I got the keys. Bare floors.Echoing silence. And yet, my chest felt full.“I did this,” I whispered to myself. Not for survival. Not for anyone else. But for me.The gallery came next. That
Antonioni’s POVThe moment they stepped inside my study, something changed. I didn’t see it at first, but I felt it. The air. It changed. It became sharp and wrong.My fingers stilled over the paper in front of me. And then… I looked up. “Who…?”The word didn’t even finish forming.Because the man standing in front of me…No. That wasn’t possible.My chest tightened instantly, as something had reached inside and gripped my lungs. My mind tried to catch up, to make sense of what my eyes were seeing, but it refused.It was…my father—the one Patty Mama told me he died when I was just two years old. He stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately. As if he knew one wrong step would shatter whatever fragile reality was holding this moment together.“Antonioni…” he said.My name. From his mouth. This was undeniably him. The face in the pictures.“I… It’s me. Your father. I’ve come back. I’ve come to make it right.”My pen slipped from my fingers. I didn’t feel it fall. My body locked. Completely.
Annabelle’s POVValentine's morning sun was different. It was rich with the hue of gold.I woke to the scent of Antonioni’s cigar lingering faintly, the faint trace of smoke curling into the sunlight. But it wasn’t ju
Antonioni’s POVThe cigar burned slowly between my fingers.I hadn’t noticed when I lit it. Only when the smoke thickened did I realize how long I’d been standing there, staring out at the darkened estate, letting memory an
Antonioni’s POVI listened to Captain Mauro Blair F'Àràfàte's voice, laced with shame, as he spoke into the phone. "Antonioni... I'm sorry to ask, but I need a favor."My tone was calm, almost amused. "What is it, Mauro?"Mauro hesitated. "I... I need money. But I'm ashamed to ask."I chuckled low.
Antonioni’s POVI didn’t wait for permission.The moment Kemal stepped aside, I moved.They were being held by Kemal's men in a secured hangar on the outskirts, temporary, unofficial, and quiet. The kind of place meant for questions that weren’t supposed to exist on paper, yet served justice. The g







