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Ashes of the Past
Last Updated:
2025-05-03 12:58:00
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The Mafia Protocol Blood in the Water
The old rules didn’t apply anymore.No more silent deals in smoke-filled rooms.No more threats hidden behind fake smiles.Camilla was about to wage a different kind of war—a public one. One fought in headlines, courtrooms, and boardrooms.A war where the truth was the most dangerous weapon of all.And Riccardo?He was ready to burn the world down beside her.The team assembled in the vineyard’s underground command room—a space Riccardo had renovated years ago for emergencies exactly like this.The room buzzed with low conversation as Marco pinned a map to the wall, lines connecting names and faces.Luca typed furiously at a bank of laptops, hacking into Bellamy’s inner circle, compiling files, cross-referencing accounts.Camilla stood at the center of it all, her presence magnetic.She was no longer the girl who had been sold off like a piece of property.She was the woman plotting the downfall of kings.“We have three major points of attack,” Luca announced. “The media, his finances
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The first rule of war:Take out the enemy’s eyes before you strike.Camilla understood that now better than ever.Bellamy still had resources. Still had men, money, secrets tucked away in vaults no one could trace. But he couldn’t protect what he couldn’t see coming.And he would never see her coming.The next morning, the vineyard buzzed with movement.Luca compiled a master list of Bellamy’s offshore accounts, hidden properties, and blackmail material. Each file was a dagger waiting to be driven into his heart.“We hit his accounts first,” Luca explained, eyes sharp behind his glasses. “Freeze them. Seize them. Starve him of power.”Riccardo studied the list grimly. “How long until he notices?”Luca gave a humorless smile. “He’ll feel it by sunset.”Camilla leaned over the table, tracing Bellamy’s empire with her finger like a general marking battle lines.“And after that?”Riccardo’s mouth curved into a brutal smile.“Then we take the rest.”By noon, Bellamy’s personal accounts in
Last Updated : 2025-05-04The Mafia Protocol The Rise of a Queen
The morning after Bellamy’s death, the world still turned as if nothing had changed.But Camilla knew better. The game had shifted. The board had been rearranged. And now, the question wasn’t whether she would survive—but what she would become.The vineyard, once a symbol of secrecy and shadows, now stood at the heart of an empire reborn. Its rolling hills, rich with life, reflected the promise of a future yet to be written.Camilla stood at the window of her office, looking out over the land she had inherited. Riccardo had given her the space to grow, to build something lasting. The air smelled of grapes, of wealth, of power.But it also smelled of potential.Riccardo entered the room behind her, his presence as commanding as ever, though his gaze softened when it landed on her.“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice low, as if daring the question to be answered.“Different,” Camilla replied. She didn’t turn to face him, still lost in the view. “I thought I’d feel lighter, but there
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The rain fell hard against the cracked windshield of Camilla’s beat-up sedan as she pulled into the gravel driveway of her father’s estate. A single dim light flickered above the front door, barely illuminating the ivy-covered walls of the old mansion. It looked abandoned—too quiet, too still. Her heart pounded as she stepped out of the car, high heels crunching over loose gravel. She hadn’t been here in months. Not since the last screaming match with her father. He’d begged her to stay away, told her things were getting dangerous. She hadn’t listened. She never did. Now he wasn’t answering her calls, and his assistant had left her a voicemail in the middle of the night. Come home. Urgently. No details. Just panic in her voice. Camilla shoved open the heavy door. It wasn’t locked. “Dad?” she called out, stepping inside. Silence. The house was too cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones—not from weather, but from something wrong. Lights were off in the foyer,
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The ink was still drying when Riccardo slid the contract back into the folder with the precision of a man sealing someone’s fate. Camilla stared at the paper, her pulse thudding in her ears. Her signature looked foreign beside her father’s. Like a final breath before drowning. “That’s it?” she whispered. “It’s done?” Riccardo nodded. “Congratulations, Mrs. Falcone.” The words hit her like a slap. She wasn’t married. Not really. Not in the way it was supposed to mean. This was a transaction. She had sold herself to the devil and signed it in ink instead of blood. And he wore satisfaction like a tailored suit. “You’ll move into my house by tonight,” he added. “You’ll find the terms of your… stay quite livable.” “Like a gilded prison,” she muttered. He smirked. “Only if you try to run.” She shot him a glare, but he’d already turned his back, reaching for his phone. “Car will be outside in twenty minutes. Pack light.” “I’m not a stray dog you picked up off the stre
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Camilla sat in the back of the blacked-out SUV, her fingers clutched around the hem of the white silk dress Riccardo had laid out for her. Not a gown—nothing dramatic. Just simple, sleeveless, and elegant. The kind of white that dared you to stain it. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She looked down at her hands. No bouquet. No bridesmaids. Just trembling fingers that wouldn’t stop. Riccardo sat beside her, dressed in a black three-piece suit. Not a wrinkle on him. He looked like he was headed to a corporate board meeting, not his own wedding. His jaw was clean-shaven, his expression unreadable, and not once had he glanced her way. This wasn’t romance. It was a branding. “You could at least pretend you’re not dragging me into hell,” she muttered. He finally looked at her. “Hell? Camilla, I own hell. I’m just giving you a front-row seat.” She rolled her eyes, but it was a weak defense. Because beneath her sarcasm was fear—and he could see it. He always could. The churc
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Camilla had never felt so alone. She stood in the middle of her new room, the ornate door locked behind her, staring at the phone Riccardo had left for her. The weight of it in her hand felt like an anchor, holding her in place. The screen taunted her: Riccardo as the only contact. She couldn’t trust him. Not now. Not after everything. But the message… “You’re free to leave. But if you do, you’ll be hunted.” Her fingers hovered over the screen, torn between curiosity and fear. What had her father gotten them into? What was the full extent of the debts he had owed to Riccardo—and to those far more dangerous than him? A knock at the door. Camilla’s heart leapt. She quickly shoved the phone into her bag and hurried to open it. Her mind raced through a dozen possibilities—maybe Riccardo had returned, maybe it was just another servant—but when she swung it open, she was met with the sight of the maid from earlier, holding a tray of food. “Dinner,” the maid said with a blank
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The mansion was a labyrinth of power, money, and shadows. Camilla moved through it like a ghost, never truly seen but always watching. Every day brought new pieces of the puzzle, but each answer only led to more questions. She had to know who was behind the debts. Riccardo’s words still echoed in her mind: Your father promised me a daughter. Camilla had been a means to an end. A bargaining chip in a game far too big for her to understand. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was survival. And to survive, she needed to get to the heart of this empire. The next morning, Camilla woke to find a fresh stack of papers waiting for her on the desk. She hadn’t asked for them, hadn’t even heard a knock at the door, but there they were. As she read through the contracts, her blood ran cold. They were debts. But not just any debts. These were linked to her father’s business dealings with Riccardo’s family and several other powerful families. The amounts were staggering, and the d
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The morning after Bellamy’s death, the world still turned as if nothing had changed.But Camilla knew better. The game had shifted. The board had been rearranged. And now, the question wasn’t whether she would survive—but what she would become.The vineyard, once a symbol of secrecy and shadows, now stood at the heart of an empire reborn. Its rolling hills, rich with life, reflected the promise of a future yet to be written.Camilla stood at the window of her office, looking out over the land she had inherited. Riccardo had given her the space to grow, to build something lasting. The air smelled of grapes, of wealth, of power.But it also smelled of potential.Riccardo entered the room behind her, his presence as commanding as ever, though his gaze softened when it landed on her.“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice low, as if daring the question to be answered.“Different,” Camilla replied. She didn’t turn to face him, still lost in the view. “I thought I’d feel lighter, but there
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The first rule of war:Take out the enemy’s eyes before you strike.Camilla understood that now better than ever.Bellamy still had resources. Still had men, money, secrets tucked away in vaults no one could trace. But he couldn’t protect what he couldn’t see coming.And he would never see her coming.The next morning, the vineyard buzzed with movement.Luca compiled a master list of Bellamy’s offshore accounts, hidden properties, and blackmail material. Each file was a dagger waiting to be driven into his heart.“We hit his accounts first,” Luca explained, eyes sharp behind his glasses. “Freeze them. Seize them. Starve him of power.”Riccardo studied the list grimly. “How long until he notices?”Luca gave a humorless smile. “He’ll feel it by sunset.”Camilla leaned over the table, tracing Bellamy’s empire with her finger like a general marking battle lines.“And after that?”Riccardo’s mouth curved into a brutal smile.“Then we take the rest.”By noon, Bellamy’s personal accounts in
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The old rules didn’t apply anymore.No more silent deals in smoke-filled rooms.No more threats hidden behind fake smiles.Camilla was about to wage a different kind of war—a public one. One fought in headlines, courtrooms, and boardrooms.A war where the truth was the most dangerous weapon of all.And Riccardo?He was ready to burn the world down beside her.The team assembled in the vineyard’s underground command room—a space Riccardo had renovated years ago for emergencies exactly like this.The room buzzed with low conversation as Marco pinned a map to the wall, lines connecting names and faces.Luca typed furiously at a bank of laptops, hacking into Bellamy’s inner circle, compiling files, cross-referencing accounts.Camilla stood at the center of it all, her presence magnetic.She was no longer the girl who had been sold off like a piece of property.She was the woman plotting the downfall of kings.“We have three major points of attack,” Luca announced. “The media, his finances
The Mafia Protocol Ashes of the Past
The safe house Riccardo brought them to was hidden deep within the countryside—an old vineyard turned fortress, surrounded by thick woods and iron gates.The ride there was a tense blur, adrenaline refusing to release its grip on Camilla’s body.Even when they pulled into the circular driveway and the heavy iron gates clanged shut behind them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground was still moving under her feet.Inside, the house was dimly lit, with low ceilings and thick walls that seemed to swallow sound.Perfect for hiding.Perfect for regrouping.Marco and Luca immediately began sweeping the property for threats, speaking in terse, clipped Italian over their radios.Riccardo led Camilla upstairs to a small sitting room, where a crackling fire offered a faint warmth.Only then, when they were finally alone, did he speak.“You were brilliant tonight,” Riccardo said, his voice low.Camilla met his gaze, her fists still trembling slightly from the aftermath.“I had to be,” s
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The air inside the Bellamy Estate crackled with a strange kind of electricity.Every polished laugh, every whispered deal was a layer of deceit stretched taut over a powder keg—and Camilla could feel it ready to blow.Riccardo moved through the crowd with predator-like precision, while Camilla, poised and deadly, made her way toward the back of the ballroom where the private auctions were taking place.Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she slipped into character.Not Camilla the pawn.Not even Camilla the survivor.No.Tonight, she was Camilla Falcone.A queen.And she would burn anyone who thought they could use her.She flashed a smile at a passing security guard, her presence so disarming he barely noticed when she palmed the access card from his jacket.She made her way to the staff corridors, heels clicking sharply on marble, adrenaline sharpening her senses.She wasn’t just part of Riccardo’s plan.She was the plan.Meanwhile, Riccardo cornered a man near the open bar—a wea
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Camilla stared into the darkness long after the Broker’s car disappeared into the night.The cold wind sliced through her jacket, but she barely felt it. Her mind was racing, struggling to process what she had just seen.It couldn’t be him.It shouldn’t be him.But it was.Someone she thought had vanished from her life—someone she never wanted to see again.Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the transmitter hidden under her shirt.“Riccardo,” she whispered, voice tight. “It’s someone I know.”“We’re coming to you,” his voice snapped through the earpiece. “Stay put.”Seconds later, headlights flooded the parking lot. Riccardo’s black SUV screeched to a halt, the door flying open as he jumped out, gun in hand, eyes scanning the empty space around her.He was at her side in an instant, gripping her arms.“Are you hurt?” he demanded.She shook her head numbly.Marco and Luca flanked them, weapons raised, covering the perimeter.But the threat was already gone.“He knew me, Riccard
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The night air was thick with the salt of the nearby ocean as Camilla and Riccardo pulled up to the abandoned docks. Warehouse Twelve loomed ahead of them, a crumbling skeleton of rusted metal and broken glass.It felt like walking straight into the jaws of a beast.But Camilla didn’t flinch.She had Riccardo at her side—and more importantly, she had a mission.The black SUV came to a smooth stop a few blocks away. Marco was behind the wheel, stone-faced as ever. Luca sat in the passenger seat, double-checking his gun.“Radio check,” Luca said. “You’re both wired. We’ll be listening.”Camilla nodded, adjusting the tiny earpiece in her ear. Her fingers brushed the sleek black holster hidden beneath her leather jacket, the weight of her pistol a familiar comfort.“Try not to get killed,” Marco said gruffly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to meet Camilla’s gaze.She smirked. “No promises.”Riccardo opened the door and stepped out, hand instinctively reaching for Camilla’s as she fol
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Morning came cloaked in a heavy, gray mist that curled along the edges of the Falcone estate. Camilla stood by the tall windows of the bedroom, watching as the sun fought a losing battle against the clouds.It matched her mood perfectly.She hadn’t slept much. Every creak of the old house, every whisper of the wind against the windows, kept her on edge. The anonymous note replayed in her mind again and again.We know your secrets. You can’t hide behind him forever.Someone was targeting her specifically—not just Riccardo. And she needed to figure out who before they made their next move.Behind her, the door creaked open, and Riccardo stepped in, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair still damp from the shower.“They’ll regret putting you on edge,” he said, voice rough from sleep but edged with violence.She turned to face him, arms crossed. “We can’t just react. We need to be smarter than them.”A slow, proud smile curved Riccardo’s mouth. “Already ahead of you, angel.”He crossed the room,
The Mafia Protocol The Gathering Storm
The Falcone estate buzzed with an energy that was almost feral. Security doubled at every entrance. Armed guards posted at the gates. Every servant and staff member was vetted, cleared, and watched.Camilla stepped into the grand hall with Riccardo by her side, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Tonight was more than a social gathering. It was a show of force.A reminder to everyone that Camilla Knight was no pawn.The room was filled with powerful figures—captains, lieutenants, allies who controlled entire slices of the underworld. Men and women who had built empires from blood and ruin. And every single one of them turned to look at her the moment she entered.Some with curiosity.Some with calculation.And some with barely veiled hostility.Riccardo’s fingers brushed the small of her back—silent encouragement. Camilla straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and let the silence stretch for one heavy, dangerous beat.Then she moved forward, owning the room like it had
