جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 90

Camilla stood in the Falcone library, the fireplace crackling behind her as she turned another page in the file Marco had dropped on her desk earlier. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after the way Lorenzo’s name had echoed in Riccardo’s voice, flat and grim, before he left with his crew to confront the traitor.And then he returned—quiet, composed, but with a sharpness in his eyes that hadn’t dulled even after they fell into bed together, not speaking a word about what happened.Now, hours later, Camilla knew why.Lorenzo’s death was only the beginning.She traced a name with her finger—Seraphine Delacroix. A name she’d seen before, tucked into a network of shell corporations and offshore accounts. The same name appeared in a contract buried in her father’s old files—ones she hadn’t dared to read until recently.Seraphine was a ghost from Riccardo’s past. A woman who had once run with the Delacroix syndicate, a rival family who vanished under mysterious circumstances. But if Lorenzo

Camilla didn’t hesitate.Her gun was in her hand, finger on the trigger, aimed straight at Seraphine’s heart.“Step away from her.”But Seraphine didn’t move. She simply tilted her head, her smile curving like a blade. “Still so reactive. Just like your father.”Camilla flinched at the name. She didn’t give Seraphine the satisfaction of a response.Behind her, Riccardo entered silently, gun raised, Marco and Isadora flanking him. The room filled with tension thick as smoke.Seraphine lifted one elegant hand. “Please. Let’s not turn this into a bloodbath. I invited you, after all.”“You kidnapped her,” Camilla snapped, glancing at her mother—pale, weak, but conscious.“I preserved her,” Seraphine corrected. “Your father was going to kill her. Did you know that?”A cold chill passed through Camilla. “Liar.”“I warned him. Told him she knew too much, was too soft for this world. He couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving. So he planned her death.” Seraphine stepped closer, eyes glitter

The smoke hadn’t cleared.Even after Seraphine’s capture, even after the convoy was dismantled and the threats were neutralized, there was still a heaviness that clung to the air—like the city itself was holding its breath.Camilla stood on the rooftop of the Lucerne safe house, the morning mist curling around her like fingers made of fog. Her arm was bandaged, stiff but healing. The pain was dulled now—physical, manageable. The deeper ache? Not so much.Below, the city stirred awake. Lights blinked on in scattered patterns. The church bells rang in the distance. Life carried on.Behind her, Riccardo emerged from the stairwell. He crossed to her side silently and offered her a cup of hot coffee. She took it without speaking.He glanced at her. “You didn’t sleep.”“Did you?”He smirked. “I never do. Not after a kill.”“She’s still alive.”“Same difference.”They fell into a quiet that wasn’t tense—just thoughtful. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed faintly. Camilla sipped the co

The name Calista Myles haunted the quiet hours of the night.Back in New York, Camilla lay beside Riccardo in their bed, the moonlight casting pale silver across the sheets. Her thoughts refused to settle. The file Wren had given her sat on the nightstand, unopened since their return. But her mind had already memorized every word, every trace.Calista had vanished fifteen years ago.Last known address: London.Last known occupation: Intelligence liaison.Last known message: “She’s gone. I’m done.”Now, with Specter dead and Wren buried in another country under layers of secrecy, Calista was Camilla’s only thread to the brother she never knew she had.Beside her, Riccardo stirred. “You’re not sleeping.”“I don’t think I’ll be able to until I see her face.”He turned to her, eyes shadowed but alert. “Then let’s bring her into the light.”By morning, Riccardo’s team was in motion.Luca tracked old banking activity tied to Calista’s name. Sparse, hidden, but not impossible. She’d withdraw

By morning, the clouds over Tuscany had thickened—low and grey, the air tense with the promise of a storm.Riccardo stood at the edge of the vineyard, surveying the terrain. Rows of grapevines stretched like ribs across the hillside. Beautiful, vulnerable. Too open for comfort.Behind him, Marco approached, his steps quiet.“The security grid’s up,” Marco said. “Perimeter sensors, motion alarms, backup power supply hidden beneath the wine cellar.”Riccardo didn’t look away. “Good.”Marco hesitated. “You trust him?”Vincent.Riccardo’s expression was unreadable. “I trust Camilla.”“Not the same thing.”“No,” Riccardo admitted, “but it’s enough for now.”Back at the farmhouse, Camilla was in the study with Vincent, going over the ledger they’d recovered from her father’s safe months ago—entries they thought they’d fully understood until now.Vincent flipped through the pages, fingers pausing on coded names. “Here—‘Falconer.’ I’ve seen this alias before. It wasn’t Delgado’s. It belonged