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หน้าหลัก / Mafia / The king of Ashes / Chapter Eighty-One : The Ascent

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Chapter Eighty-One : The Ascent

ผู้เขียน: Zainab
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2025-12-07 19:15:56

(Alessandro’s POV)

The flight across the Atlantic was a long, dark tunnel of quiet, controlled tension. Our private jet was a ghost in the night sky, a silent, pressurized capsule carrying a handful of people on an impossible mission. We were flying into the heart of a frozen nightmare, a war against an enemy who could bring back the dead.

My men were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, checking their weapons, studying the preliminary schematics Anya had sent us. Lucian was a mask of
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  • The king of Ashes    Chapter One Hundred and Sixty: Double the Miracle ( part 2 )

    I stared at her, my brain unable to comprehend it. Two. There were two. Isabella screamed again, her body arching, and I scrambled back to her side, gripping her hand, my own legs feeling suddenly watery. “Push, Angel!” I yelled, my voice cracking, “Just one more, please, just one more!” She sobbed, exhausted, drained, but she found a reserve of strength that I did not possess, and she pushed, she pushed with everything she had left. A second cry joined the first, a slightly softer, higher pitch, and the doctor lifted a second bundle, smaller than the first, but just as loud. “It’s a girl,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Twins, Alessandro. A boy and a girl.” I stood there, frozen, my hand still gripping Isabella’s. I looked at the nurse holding my son, a tiny, angry warrior. I looked at the doctor holding my daughter, a beautiful, screaming princess. I looked at Isabella, who was laughing and crying at the same time, her face glowing with a divine, exhausted light. T

  • The king of Ashes    Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine : Double the Miracle

    (Alessandro’s POV) The months that followed the news of the pregnancy were a trial for Isabella, not because she was unwell, but because I had become unbearable. The King of Ashes had vanished, replaced entirely by the King of Cotton Wool, a man who saw danger in a flight of stairs and a threat in a gentle breeze. I banned her from the library ladders, I hired a nutritionist who was terrified of me, and I doubled the guard until Isabella joked that she couldn't even sneeze without three men reporting it to me on a headset. But I didn't care, because every time I looked at her, every time I saw the swell of her stomach growing, I felt a terror and a love so profound it made my hands shake. I had lost one child, I had made a terrible choice once, and I swore to every god and every devil that I would not lose this one, I would keep them safe if I had to hold the entire world back with my bare hands. We had decided not to find out the gender, a surprise, she had said, a final myst

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    When we went out, which was rare, it was like a military operation. I had doubled the guard, doubled the armored cars, and I walked so close to her that I was practically carrying her. “Alessandro,” she sighed one afternoon, sitting in the newly renovated nursery, a room painted in soft, creamy yellows and whites. “I am pregnant, I am not invalid, I can pick up a book.” I snatched the book from her hand and placed it on the shelf, “It was on a high shelf, you could have stretched, you could have lost your balance.” She gave me a look that was half-amused and half-exasperated. “I was reaching for a paperback, not climbing Mount Everest.” I knelt in front of her chair, placing my hands on the swell of her stomach, which was now round and beautiful, a visible, tangible promise of our future. “I cannot take risks, Angel,” I whispered, feeling the baby kick against my palm, a strong, solid thud that made me smile every single time. “I lost one, I will not lose another, I will wra

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    (Alessandro’s POV) The silence in the hallway was not empty, for it was filled with the deafening, thunderous sound of my own heart rewriting every law I had ever lived by. I was on my knees, a position no king should ever take, but I would stay on my knees for a thousand years if it meant I could stay in this moment, this perfect and terrifying moment where the universe had shifted on its axis. “A father,” I breathed, the word tasting like a prayer on my tongue, and I looked up at her, at Isabella, who was standing there in her white silk robe like a vision of everything good and pure in this world. She nodded, her tears falling freely now, and she reached down to touch my face, her fingers trembling against my skin. “Yes, Alessandro, you are going to be a father, and we are going to have a family.” The shock finally began to recede, replaced by a wave of protectiveness so fierce, so primal, that it roared through my veins like liquid fire. I surged to my feet, my hands instan

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    And then, the door clicked, and it slowly, slowly opened. Isabella stood there, wrapped in her white, silk robe, her dark hair a beautiful, messy tangle around her shoulders. She was pale, yes, she was definitely pale, but her eyes… her beautiful, honey-gold eyes were shining, shining with a light so bright, so powerful, that it lit up the entire, dark hallway, and she was crying, but it was not tears of sadness, it was tears of a profound, earth-shattering joy. She was holding something in her hand, a small, white plastic stick, and she held it out to me, her hand shaking so hard she could barely keep it steady. I just stared at it, my mind completely blank, frozen, I did not understand. My world was guns, and ledgers, and blood, I had no idea what this was, this small, strange object, and my mind, still trapped in the horror of the hospital, could only see it as a threat. “Angel, what is it?” I asked, my voice a desperate, pleading thing, “What’s wrong? Tell me, what do I ne

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    (Alessandro’s POV) Our time in Paris was not a honeymoon, it was a rebirth, a beautiful, sun-drenched, and quiet dream where we were not a king and a queen, but just a husband and a wife. We walked the cobblestone streets hand-in-hand, we ate pastries at tiny, sidewalk cafes, we made love in the silver moonlight with the Eiffel Tower as our witness, and for two perfect, stolen weeks, the world, with all its blood, and its ghosts, and its ashes, simply did not exist. We were just Alessandro and Isabella, a man and a woman so deeply, so completely, and so normally in love that it felt like the greatest victory of my life. But the dream, as beautiful as it was, had to end, because the real world was waiting, our kingdom was waiting. On our last morning, I held her on the terrace, our bodies wrapped together, and we watched the sun rise over the city one last time, the sky a beautiful, soft painting of pink and gold. “I don't want to leave,” she whispered against my chest, her voic

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    (Isabella’s POV) My question hung in the air of the quiet study, heavy and sharp. Are we going to destroy an innocent woman, an innocent family, just to get to a monster? Alessandro didn't answer right away. He walked to the vast window and looked out at the Chicago skyline, his back to me. I

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    (Alessandro’s POV) The hours after I left my brother in his cell were the longest of my life. I returned to the penthouse, but I found no peace there. I stood on the balcony, staring out at the Chicago skyline, but I did not see the city. I saw my brother’s face, trapped and broken, wrestling w

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    (Alessandro’s POV) I woke up with the sun. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I had slept through the entire night. There were no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat. There was only the calm, steady breathing of the woman sleeping beside me. I turned my head and watched I

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