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The Devil’s Last War
Last Updated:
2025-06-24 17:03:31
Latest chapter
The Mafia Protocol Loose Ends and Last Rites
The air inside the old cathedral was heavy with incense and silence. Stained glass windows bathed the pews in fractured colors, and at the altar, a single photograph sat framed in silver. Marco Falcone. Camilla hadn’t cried during the fight. She hadn’t cried when she watched Mateo fall, or when she’d handed over Angelo to the authorities. But standing here—where her fallen brother’s memorial had been hastily arranged—she finally let the tears fall. There were no crowds. Just a tight circle of people who had survived the storm he’d helped calm. Riccardo stood behind her, a quiet force of support. Aurora and Enzo were seated a few rows back, their heads bowed. Lucien had stayed behind at the estate with Leo, but he’d sent a message with white roses and a single, handwritten note: To the man who kept the devil from losing his way. Rest easy. Camilla stepped up to the altar, eyes burning. She reached into her coat and pulled out a lighter and a cigar—Marco’s favorite brand. “You wer
The Mafia Protocol Ashes and Oaths
The morning after the bloodbath at the docks, the city felt eerily silent. As though it were holding its breath, uncertain of what came next. Smoke still hung in the air like a ghost refusing to depart. But for the first time in months—maybe years—Riccardo could hear the stillness. And it didn’t feel like danger. It felt like victory. Camilla stood at the balcony of the old Falcone estate, arms folded, wind tugging her dark hair from its braid. Below, men cleaned weapons and tended to the wounded. A dozen loyal soldiers remained to protect the heart of what they had rebuilt. She didn’t feel like a queen. She felt like a survivor. “Thought I’d find you out here,” Riccardo said behind her. She didn’t turn. “I needed the air.” He stepped beside her, his face still marred with a healing bruise from the night before. “You slept for three hours. That’s a record for you.” “I couldn’t shut my eyes without seeing Marco,” she whispered. “Or Mateo. Or Angelo’s face when you handed him over
The Mafia Protocol The Devil’s Reckoning
The wind howled through the broken windows of the old cathedral, carrying the scent of blood and smoke. Camilla stood at the altar, her back straight despite the crimson trail staining her torn blouse. Her gun trembled slightly in her grip—not from fear, but from the adrenaline that had yet to burn out of her veins. Across from her, Riccardo stood with his own pistol raised, aimed at the man who had once called himself family. Angelo Falcone. Bloodied. Cornered. Still defiant. “You don’t have to do this,” Angelo rasped, spit mingling with blood on his lips. “We’re the same, Riccardo. You and me. This empire—you know I helped build it.” “You helped poison it,” Riccardo replied coldly. “You turned my name into a curse, my family into a target.” Camilla’s voice rang out, sharp as broken glass. “He murdered Marco. He orchestrated the attacks on Aurora. He betrayed your oath. There’s nothing left to discuss.” Angelo’s smirk faltered, just for a second. Riccardo lowered his weapon—but
The Mafia Protocol The Devil’s Last War
The warehouse was drenched in shadow and silence, as if the building itself was holding its breath. Riccardo Falcone stood in the center of it all, bloodied knuckles clenching and unclenching at his sides. The light from the high windows caught the sharp angles of his face—hardened, cold, and resolute. Around him, his most trusted men stood in a wide circle, weapons loaded and eyes sharp. The tension in the room was a living, breathing thing. Camilla stood just behind him. She wasn’t the scared woman she had been when this all began. Power radiated from her like a second skin. She wore black—elegant, lethal—and the pistol at her side was more than just symbolic now. She was ready to fight, to bleed if she had to. For Riccardo. For the empire they had rebuilt from ruin. “Delgado’s dogs are moving,” Marco reported, stepping forward and sliding a tablet onto the steel table. “We intercepted chatter an hour ago. They’re planning a final strike.” “How many?” Riccardo asked, his voice l
The Mafia Protocol The Throne We Build
The meeting was held in the lower chambers beneath the Falcone estate—once a wine cellar, now a bunker of steel and security, far from any ears that might betray them. Camilla stood at the head of the long obsidian table. Her shoulder was still healing beneath the bandage, the ache a dull reminder that she was not invincible. But pain didn’t matter. What mattered was what came next. The room was silent, filled with the core of their new world—Riccardo on her right, Marco at his flank, Sera seated with a sleek laptop flickering with encrypted data streams. Across from them sat the leaders of the Castigliones, Ivankovs, Morettis, and two representatives from the Eastern syndicates—new allies, or at least ones who hadn’t tried to kill them yet. “This is the future,” Camilla said clearly. “Not a kingdom passed from father to son, not a house built on the backs of rituals and blood feuds. This is an empire that transcends name and nation. And if any of you doubt it—walk away now.” No
The Mafia Protocol Blood and Oaths
Camilla didn’t let them help her up. Even with blood soaking her shoulder and pain flashing white behind her eyes, she rose on her own, like a queen surveying the battlefield. Bodies littered the entrance—some still twitching, others crumpled in unnatural silence. Smoke coiled toward the ceiling. The walls bore the scars of gunfire, a grotesque mural of survival. But they were alive. Riccardo moved to her side, his hand curling around her waist, grounding her. He said nothing about the blood. Just stood close—solid, present, brimming with unspoken rage and relief. Marco surveyed the wreckage, then gave a tight nod to the men clearing the hallway. “Secure every level. I want identification on every corpse. Strip their gear, check for trackers. If even one of them is tagged, we go underground—immediately.” “Yes, sir.” The men moved quickly, their efficiency born from years of following death’s rhythm. They knew this wasn’t over. Not really. Sera stepped forward, clutching the enc
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