Semua Bab The Debt of Passion: Bab 11 - Bab 17

The grand dining hall had never felt this cold before. The long table, usually a place where Lorenzo and his men gathered with an air of casual arrogance, now felt more like a trial chamber. The dim chandelier overhead cast flickering shadows on the marble floors, amplifying the weight of the silence that stretched between them. Isabella stood at one end of the table, her posture tense but defiant, while Lorenzo sat at the other, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of a half-full glass of whiskey. Around them, his most trusted men lined the room like an audience waiting for a verdict. The tension in the room was thick enough to suffocate. She could sense it—the suspicion, the unspoken accusations lingering in the air like a noose tightening around her neck. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Isabella,” Lorenzo finally said, his tone deceptively calm. “Got nothing to say for yourself?” The accusation hung in the air like a loaded gun. She narrowed her eyes, her patience already worn thi

Pain was the first thing Isabella felt when she woke up. It radiated through her limbs, a dull ache in her ribs, her shoulders, even the small cuts on her knuckles from where her fists had met flesh. The events of last night came rushing back—the ambush, the gunfire, the blood on her hands. The weight of what she had done settled over her like a suffocating blanket. She had killed a man. There had been no time to process it when it happened, no chance to think. Just survival. Now, in the cold light of morning, reality hit her like a punch to the gut. The knowledge that she had pulled the trigger, that someone had taken their last breath because of her, gnawed at her insides. But there was no space for weakness. Not here. Not in this world. A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. Before she could respond, the door opened, and Lorenzo stepped inside. He was dressed in his usual sharp suit, the very image of control and authority. His gaze swept over her, assessing, but ther

The estate had settled into an uneasy quiet by the time Isabella stepped outside. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air, a silent weight pressing against her chest. The events of the past days had hardened her—training with Luca and the others had pushed her past limits she hadn’t known she had. But something about tonight felt different. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the suffocating walls inside, but her moment of calm didn’t last. Her gaze caught on something at the far end of the courtyard, just beyond the iron gates. A small, dark box sat there, placed purposefully—too obvious, too deliberate. A warning. A chill ran through her. “Luca!” she called, stepping back instinctively. Luca and Miguel were by her side in seconds, their hands on their weapons. Diego followed close behind, his sharp eyes already scanning the perimeter. Miguel crouched, examining the box carefully before flipping open the lid. The scent of iron hit them first—blood. I

The scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air long after the last shot was fired. The docks were eerily silent now, save for the occasional murmurs of Lorenzo’s men securing the area. Bodies had been removed, blood washed away, but the tension remained thick, like a storm waiting to break. Isabella stood at the edge of the scene, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her heart still pounded from the chaos. She had witnessed death before, but this was different. This wasn’t just about survival—it was war. Luca and Diego were crouched near the rooftop where the sniper had been stationed, scanning the area. Lorenzo stood nearby, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “We were lucky,” Luca muttered, running a gloved hand over the ground. “Whoever they were, they had a clean shot. They didn’t miss because they were sloppy.” “They missed because they wanted to,” Lorenzo finished, his expression dark. He turned to Diego. “Find out how they got in and out without being spotted. Someone had to g