GOD WAS MOVING. He was moving his chess pieces so accurately, and no one could tell what was next."Burn it," he ordered before sipping wine from his glass. His voice was calm, just like the wide ocean before him. Santorini mornings had always been perfect anyway, more so, his mansion there. Whitewashed houses line the most beautiful mountain in the world, meeting the blue Aegean waters as they calmly hit the shore.It was heaven with a demon living in it."Burn it down and..." the God chuckled while letting the sweet breeze mess with his graying hair. "... break his other leg. Make sure that he wouldn't have anywhere else to go."...'Cazzata!'Rome's cuss remained unspoken as he watched his headquarters, 'The Romans', burn through nine different TV screens. Thick, dark smoke was rising from the same building he had worked so hard for. From the aerial shot taken by the news channel, he could see the showcase of his bar getting licked by fire. His people were screaming and getting t

It was hard to tell if hell was actually a burning place. At three in the morning, hell looked nothing like what the Bible said. It was just pitch black with phone rings and voices.[Hello? She's on her way, God.]"Good."[Should I send the soldiers to meet her?]"Don't. Wait for her to enter our territory."[God?]"He will run after her. Wait for it."...'DRIVING TO THE VILLA. Will talk to Dad. Be back tonight. Love, Margaux'A three-sentence note on the mirror, a little heart smiley, and her name written using her red lipstick were all it took for Rome's mind to melt into broken letters.He was tired, and her arms were warm, so he slept. He should not have.Who would have thought that it would take only a short while for her to slip between his fingers? Like sand seeping down and falling where she shouldn't be?'You lured her...' He blinked his eyes, trying to balance himself as he reached for her name. His fingers were trembling when they touched the cold mirror, hoping that it

THE VILLA WAS BUZZING at five in the morning. The scent of food combined with flowers was lingering in the air. The tables—hundreds of them—were carefully wrapped in meticulous white linens. The maids were like bees running back and forth, carrying plates and silverware. Violinists, called out at the most unholy time of the day, were cramming to learn the best and most beautiful music they would ever play: the Alla Mia Amata."You missed the timing; it would mean something different." The Don was in the middle of the crowd, looking down at the poor violinist."S-señor?""It's for my son. Perfect it," he ordered in a cold voice. His amber eyes were piercing, silently warning the musician to get the proper tempo or else it would be the last piece he would play. "You have to perfect it," he gritted, making the musician's knee shake at once with the terror that engulfed him."Y-Yes, señor." The musician barely opened his mouth, reaching for the paper before him to read the complicated n

It was the worst battle he had fought. A war where he couldn't tell who was with him and who wasn't. A battle where he had to keep firing his gun while holding his cara and staring death in the face simultaneously.He lost count of the number of bullets his body took for her. His whole body was numbing, but then he just couldn't let go.His mind was empty, unable to recognize who his enemies were. Alejandro's soldiers were fighting like a group of hungry beasts. The group that broke through the gate minutes ago, which he had recognized as Marco's, was just as ferocious.He noticed one of the groups protecting him when he rushed to the parking lot. Some of its soldiers caught bullets for him, willingly giving their lives to assure that he would get where he needed to.He was in so much pain. But it wasn't because of the random bullets digging into his flesh. He knew that pain so well. It wasn't for him, but for Margaux. It was for the child barely holding on inside her.The whole world