Semua Bab Bound By Mafia Blood: Bab 91 - Bab 100

The steady beep of a heart monitor echoed like a war drum in the silent room.Massimo Morelli lay on a bloodstained cot in a shadow-drenched safehouse near the outskirts of Berlin, his body a battlefield of jagged shrapnel, third-degree burns, and bullet wounds stitched in haste. The stench of iodine and rot clung to the walls like guilt.Sweat clung to his chest. His breath rasped. But he was alive. Barely.Luca paced the narrow room, jaw clenched, a blood-slick blade still tucked into his belt. His hoodie was torn, splattered with the night’s chaos. He glanced at Massimo, then at the old analog clock above the door. He’d been checking it every five minutes, waiting for the fever to break.“Still here, boss,” Luca muttered, wiping his brow with a trembling hand. “Just like you ordered.”Massimo stirred, letting out a low grunt as pain lanced through his side. “Water,” he croaked.Luca was at his side instantly, cradling the back of Massimo’s head and raising a chipped cup to his lips

The room had gone still after she caught him.Talana laid Massimo gently onto the chaise in the sunlit lounge, her hands already at work, unwrapping his bandages, inspecting sutures, checking for signs of infection. She barely breathed, working with the silence of someone who had once stitched bullet wounds and mended broken ribs for a living.Matteo and Mariano stood guard at the doorway. Gianna watched from the corridor with baby Rosa in her arms, quiet and teary-eyed.Massimo grimaced under her touch, voice low and hoarse. “You’re angry.”She didn’t look at him. “I’m busy.”“Didn’t mean to disappear on you twice.”Her hands paused. Then resumed. “You nearly died. Again.”“I got back to you.”“You should’ve stayed dead if this was your plan,” she snapped, quiet but raw.Massimo blinked up at her, breath hitching. Then… laughter, soft and broken, bubbled from his chest. “There’s the Dona I remember.”She met his gaze, something fractured behind her eyes and then, without a word, she

The room reeked of stale wine, polished wood, and ink. Late evening sun filtered through the open balcony doors of the Sanchiano estate, casting molten gold across the floor as if the gods themselves had come to bear witness.Talana stood over the digital war table, her fingers tight around the edge. Matteo’s cracked phone lay on the surface, the screen frozen on a name she hadn’t seen in weeks.D. De Marco – Zürich Safehouse (unconfirmed)A location. Coordinates. Unverified, but pulled from a scrambled chatter stream embedded within one of the defunct Rosalina servers. Only five operatives in Europe could’ve decrypted it. Matteo had been one of them.“He’s there,” she muttered.Mariano leaned in beside her. “It could be a trap.”“They’re all traps, but if we wait, we lose him again.”She reached for the burner phone, dialing into the Sanchiano comm channel.“Matteo. Come to the war room.”Nothing. She tried again. Still silence. A cold dread spread through her chest.“Where’s Massimo

Brazil, Two Weeks Earlier - The warehouse stank of gasoline, blood, and old cigar smoke. Armed men lined the perimeter, tattooed, lean, merciless. Beneath the flickering halogen lights, Drake De Marco leaned over the polished oak table, his white shirt rolled to the elbows, sweat glistening along his throat.Across from him sat Henrique Vasquez, patriarch of the Brazilian arms syndicate, the man responsible for funneling explosives and tech across Central and South America. His suit was spotless. His smile wasn’t.“You want to reopen the channel?” Vasquez asked, sipping from a glass of cachaça.“I want to burn Europe,” De Marco replied. “And I want your help doing it.”“And in return?”“You get Donatello’s assets. Ports, smuggling routes, everything from the Adriatic to Palermo. I don’t want the money. I want the chaos.”Vasquez sat back. “She hurt you that bad, huh?”De Marco’s lips twitched. “It’s not about hurt.”“It always is.”Silence lingered between them.Then Vasquez raised hi

São José dos Campos – Refinery Compound, 2:13 a.m.The fire started in the west wing, deliberate, tactical, and merciless. Barrels of fuel stockpiled near the generator room lit up like judgment itself. Smoke funneled through cracked pipes and aged concrete, rushing through the veins of the compound like the wrath of gods.Talana stood by the tunnel’s exit, watching the blaze spread on Matteo’s tablet. Her expression didn’t flinch.“He’s moving,” Matteo confirmed, fingers flying over the screen. “Security footage shows him exiting the command chamber, heading toward the sublevel loading docks. That’s his exit route.”“Send the decoy drone to block the southern stairwell,” Talana said coolly. “If he escapes that way, this was all for nothing.”Massimo was already locking a fresh magazine into his sidearm. His voice low. “If he runs, I’ll chase him to the ends of the earth.”Talana’s eyes slid toward him. “No. He doesn’t get to run. He gets to understand.”Massimo’s jaw tightened. “Unde