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2025-11-21 03:34:28
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The Cold Compromise chapter 2
---Chapter 2: Blood on Marble(Isabella POV)“Nobody moves,” a voice said through the smoke, calm and unyielding, “or this gets messier than it already is.”The sound cut through the chaos like a blade.The cathedral went still.I knew that voice. Brooklyn had whispered his name for years like a curse. The Butcher of the Bronx.Luca Valentino.My ears rang, a sharp, high-pitched whine drowning out everything else. The massive doors hung twisted from their hinges. Smoke poured inside, swallowing the incense and replacing it with the burn of gunpowder. Dust sifted down from the ceiling, turning white marble gray.Then panic broke loose.Women screamed. Men lunged for weapons. Pews scraped violently across the floor. A capo shoved his wife down and drew his gun. Someone bolted for the exit.I didn’t move.The veil tightened around my throat. Vincent’s grip crushed my hand, his fingers digging into my skin. Rage twisted his face.“Son of a bitch.”Through the smoke, he emerged.Tall. Mov
The Cold Compromise Missing Page
Chapter 86: The Missing Page The revelation hit Luca like a physical blow: the Petrov ledger was incomplete. One final page, missing. A single page that held the names of the highest-ranking political figures—the ones Maxwell had been meticulously protecting. The implications rippled through their escape like a sudden avalanche. Everything they had been running for, every calculation, every mile covered, now took on a new, sharper meaning. Maxwell was no longer just a predator. She had become a necessity, a living barrier in their path. She needed Luca alive to validate her incomplete case. A lethal confrontation was no longer her interest; she had to preserve her prey to finish the story on her terms. “The final page,” Ethan murmured, voice thin and brittle with exhaustion. He traced the air with trembling fingers, as if trying to grasp the ghost of its existence. “It must contain the names of the highest-level players—the ones she’s protecting. If she forces you to sign a confes
The Cold Compromise Borrowed Time
Chapter 85: Borrowed Time The scent of burning wood and resin lingered in the cold air, sharp and acrid, as Luca and Ethan raced down the slope away from the Old Sawmill. Smoke curled behind them, twisting with the wind, marking the inferno they had left in their wake. For a brief moment, the fire had bought them precious minutes, but it had also broadcast their presence to any observer with eyes in the valley. Ethan’s side throbbed with every step, each breath a blade cutting into his lungs. “We need a vehicle, Luca,” he panted, gripping his side with one hand while leaning on Luca with the other. “We can’t cross France on foot. We need at least an hour of driving to even stand a chance.” Luca scanned the terrain, the dense pine and oak lining the mountainside. Their footsteps were deliberate, leaving a trace barely as they moved parallel to the Route Napoleon. The path was rough, uneven, and sharp with roots and stone, but it allowed them to stay close to the road without being
The Cold Compromise The Old Sawmill
Chapter 84: The Old Sawmill Luca and Ethan crawled from the icy creek bed, slick with black mud that clung to every fibre of their clothing. The cold had been brutal, searing their lungs, but the sludge offered a brief shield against Maxwell’s thermal sensors. Ethan’s ribs throbbed with each laboured breath, yet the cold had muted the pain just enough for him to move. Their bodies shook violently, teeth chattering, limbs trembling as if their muscles themselves had forgotten how to obey. “Keep moving,” Luca rasped, dragging Ethan toward the underbrush. “She’s ahead, setting a trap. Maxwell knows the Route Napoleon is our only corridor to the coast.” The old side track, barely visible beneath decades of overgrowth, led them to L’Ancienne Scierie—the Old Sawmill. The structure rose from the forest like a skeleton of decay, its wooden beams warped and grey, roofs collapsed in places, machinery rusting in silence. It was abandoned, forgotten, and the perfect place to disappear—or be c
The Cold Compromise Thermal Trap
Chapter 83: The Thermal Trap The frigid air burned through Luca’s lungs as if the mountain itself was trying to freeze him from the inside out. Every breath felt sharp, metallic, and painful. Beside him, Ethan’s steps were uneven and unsteady, each movement sending a jolt of agony through the wound in his side. The two men moved south in silence, descending the last of the steep mountain slopes until the terrain finally levelled out into the long, winding asphalt of the Route Napoleon. The road was abandoned at this altitude. Desolate. A narrow strip of cracked pavement cutting through towering forests of pine and fir. Frost clung to the branches and sparkled in the faint sunlight. Nothing moved. Not even the birds. The air was too cold for anything to linger. It was the fastest path to the coast, which made it the most dangerous one to take. Ethan leaned heavily against Luca’s shoulder. His breathing was shallow and shaky, as if every inhale scraped against raw bone. “We have to
The Cold Compromise Scent of Justice
Chapter 82: The Scent of Justice The cold that clung to the mountains felt different now. It wasn’t the sharp, cutting cold of dawn anymore. It had settled into something duller, heavier—like the world itself was holding its breath. From the ridge where Luca and Ethan crouched, the entire St. Bernard Pass lay exposed beneath them, a thin white scar along the mountainside. Hours earlier, the place had been a battleground of panic, gunfire, and survival. Now it moved with the quiet precision of a federal operation. Black SUVs rolled in one after another, their tyres carving deliberate lines into the snow. Agents from Hayes’s clean unit stepped out with a kind of calm purpose that came only from knowing exactly what mission they’d been sent for. No shouting. No frantic movements. Just the soft clack of doors and the crunch of boots across frozen ground. Silvio Gatto was dragged out moments later, thrashing and spitting curses that vanished into the cold air. He didn’t look threatenin
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