Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 61 - Chapitre 70

The maps sprawled across the table were marked in red, black, and blue ink, each color a different threat, each line a path of war. Lucien stood over them with Julio at his side, shoulders stiff, minds working like sharpened blades. It was nearly midnight, but the estate’s war room pulsed with quiet urgency.Julio spoke in low tones, his voice stripped of emotion. “We’ll need to reroute the weapons from the Milan contact. If Vescari is planning a flank, it’ll come through the southeast pass.”Lucien nodded, absorbing every detail. His jaw clenched tight, his mind spinning through probabilities, counters, tactics. Everything had to be clean. Precise. And he had no room for mistakes.But through all of it, she lingered in the back of his mind.He hadn’t seen Emilia all day. Hadn’t touched her, kissed her, heard her laugh. Not since the morning when she had brushed her hand over his chest and whispered something about staying safe. He couldn’t remember the words now, just the worry in her

The storm had not come from the skies, it had arrived in flesh and blood.Lucien Moretti stepped out of the armored car with the weight of empires in his stride. His coat moved like a banner in the breeze, black and sharp, a warning before the war. Behind him, Julio followed with quiet menace, eyes scanning the perimeter. And Emilia… she emerged like fire behind glass, untouchable, dangerous in a way no one in that courtyard had yet learned to fear.The location had changed, deliberately and without warning. The families had scrambled. He had watched it all from his monitors, their frantic rerouting, their irritation, their uncertainty. Exactly what he wanted.The hilltop estate was his now, a temporary seat carved out of old marble and steel, reinforced by men with dead eyes and louder guns. The compound was a fortress, its edges already lined with his soldiers. No one would leave without his blessing, or his wrath.Lucien did not wait for the other heads to adjust.He walked into the

Dario’s estate was quiet, too quiet for a man with thoughts this loud. He stepped out of his black coupe, the engine ticking as it cooled behind him. The drive had been long, winding through his family’s private land, but it had done nothing to settle the tension coiled low in his chest.Emilia Romano.She was more striking in person than any whisper had described. The kind of beauty that stole breath before thought. No wonder Lucien Moretti had lost himself. No wonder the Vulture had asked for her by name.Dario paused before the wide front doors of his home. Marble lions flanked the entrance, their stony eyes judging every guest. He passed beneath them like a man used to being watched.The Vulture was already waiting inside.He stood in the drawing room, back turned, gloved hand resting on the neck of a crystal decanter. The man didn’t drink much, at least not what he poured, but he liked to look like he did. Control was his real vice.“You got here fast,” Dario said.The Vulture pou

The music throbbed low beneath the marble floors of El Palacio, but Santiago preferred silence.He stood at the edge of the grand balcony, looking down at the club below, a cathedral of debauchery built from the ashes of a crumbling dynasty. Red lights pulsed like veins along the columns. Bodies moved in rhythm to a beat that meant nothing to him. The sound of ambition and weakness colliding.He hated it. All of it.Except the power it brought.His ancestors had once ruled over the syndicates like emperors, and now they were ghosts in the halls of memory, while pretenders like Lucien Moretti played king on their stolen thrones.Santiago spat over the balcony rail.“¿Sabes qué me molesta, Ramón?” (You know what bothers me, Ramón?) he said without looking back. “Que los hombres se olvidan de quién derramó la primera sangre.” (That men forget who spilled the first blood.)Ramón stood behind him, silent, disciplined. Santiago liked that about him. He didn’t speak unless commanded to. A goo

The bedroom was dim, bathed in amber light from the sconces Lucien never remembered turning on. He didn’t call out for her. He didn’t have to. He heard the soft rush of water, the patter of droplets against tile, steady, rhythmic, calming in a way nothing else was lately.She was in the shower.Lucien’s shoulders ached beneath the weight of command. Santiago, the summit, the wolves he’d kept at bay with nothing more than presence, it was all still inside him, taut and buzzing like a wire strung too tight. But as he crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom, that tension shifted.Glass fogged with steam. The sound of water cascading down her bare skin. And through the haze, her silhouette, soft, feminine, strong. His Emilia.Lucien stripped silently, each piece of clothing discarded without a second thought. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and the heat embraced him before he even stepped inside. She didn’t startle. Didn’t turn. She already knew it was him.Her back was to him,