บททั้งหมดของ Blood and Loyalty: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

*Bianca's POV*The morning after.The first thing I felt was warmth.Not sunlight, not blankets-him.A steady heat at my side, the slow rise and fall of breath, the faint scent of cedar and gunpowder. My lashes fluttered before my mind even caught up, and for a moment I forgot where I was. Forgot the danger, forgot Trapani, forgot Antonio, forgot everything but the quiet surrounding me.Then the memory returned:Erico lying beside me… because he refused to leave.Because he said he wouldn’t lose me.My eyes opened fully.He was still asleep.For the first time, I saw him without the armor. Without the tension. Without the harsh edges the world carved into him. He lay on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting near my waist but not touching-like even unconscious, he kept himself disciplined.His hair was tousled from sleep, a dark strand falling over his brow.His jaw, usually locked tight with restraint, looked soften now.Younger.Vulnerable in a way I didn’t kno

*Bianca's POV*The Mercanti training yard wasn’t what I expected.I thought it would be loud, chaotic, filled with shouting and clashing metal. Instead, it was quiet-an open concrete courtyard lined with old stone walls, a rack of weapons on one side, sandbag stations on the other. Morning light spilled across the ground, sharp and cold.Vincenzo stood in the center like a commander surveying a battlefield.Paolo rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, looking stern already.Mario lounged on a crate with a grin that promised trouble.Giovanni leaned on the railing above, ready to witness every moment of potential humiliation.Erico stood slightly behind me, tense in a way I could feel without even looking.“Alright,” Paolo said, clapping his hands once. “Let’s start with something simple. Stance.”I stepped forward.Paolo crossed his arms. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”I adjusted.“No, that’s too narrow. You’ll get knocked-”Before he finished the sentence, I shifted again-this time into

*Erico's POV*People always think I’m the quiet one because I prefer silence.They’re wrong.Silence isn’t a preference.It’s an instinct.A shield.A survival mechanism that’s kept me alive longer than I deserve.But around her…Silence becomes a battlefield.I watched Bianca across the training yard, sweat beading down the side of her neck as she rested between drills. Paolo barked instructions, Mario offered commentary he didn’t need, Giovanni tried to demonstrate a move she had already mastered, and Vincenzo observed her like she was a threat and an asset at the same time.I stood a few meters away.Arms folded.Eyes locked on her.Jaw tight enough to crack stone.And for the first time in my life, I understood exactly what it felt like to lose control.She shouldn’t fight this well.She shouldn’t move like that.She shouldn’t know how to disappear inside a strike, how to pivot instinctively, how to fight dirty when cornered.She shouldn’t be anything like me.And yet she was.God

*Bianca's POV*The first sign that something was wrong wasn’t the gunfire.It was the silence.The Mercanti compound never truly slept. Even at night, there were footsteps, radios humming softly, guards changing shifts, the distant sound of waves crashing below the cliffs. Life, constant and alert.That night, there was nothing.I woke with my heart pounding, breath shallow, the kind of instinctive fear that didn’t come from dreams. My room was dark except for the faint line of moonlight cutting across the floor.Too quiet.I swung my legs off the bed, feet barely touching the cold stone before I heard it-A sharp crack.Not loud.Controlled.A suppressed shot.I froze.Another crack followed. Then a thud.My pulse roared in my ears.They’re here.I reached for the knife Paolo had insisted I keep under my pillow. My fingers wrapped around the familiar weight, grounding me just enough to move.I stepped toward the door-It burst open.Erico filled the doorway like a force of nature, gu

*Antonio Romano’s POV* (yes surprise!)Antonio Romano hated messengers.They were never brave men. They were men who survived by standing close enough to danger to be useful and far enough away to avoid consequence. They carried words like weapons and then pretended their hands were clean.This one knelt.That alone told Antonio everything.The study was quiet - too quiet. The fire burned low. Heavy curtains shut out the city lights below the hill, sealing him inside the illusion of control he’d spent decades perfecting.“Speak,” Antonio said calmly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.The man swallowed. “The Russians… they sent a message, Signore.”Antonio didn’t look up. “They always do.”The messenger hesitated.Antonio’s fingers tightened around the glass.“Hesitation is fear,” Antonio said mildly. “Fear is expensive. Continue.”The man placed a black envelope on the desk with shaking hands and pushed it forward like it might bite him.Antonio finally lifted his gaze.Black pa