All Chapters of Bound By Mafia Blood: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The Croatian sky cracked open with lightning as the fortress crumbled behind them. Rain hissed against scorched stone, washing away the blood of war. The final battle had ended, but the silence that followed felt louder than gunfire.Donatello’s corpse lay in a canvas shroud beneath a ruined archway, limbs twisted, neck broken, the devil unmasked at last.Mariano stood over him, torch in hand, the flames flickering across his rain-slicked jaw. “He doesn’t deserve a grave,” he muttered.Talana said nothing, eyes hollow, as if she could already hear the echo of bones breaking down to dust. Massimo placed a hand on her back but didn’t speak.“Burn him,” Mariano said. “Let the world forget him, and let the flames remember.”No prayers were spoken. No crosses drawn. Mariano lit the torch and tossed it onto the oil-soaked shroud. Flames leapt like hungry wolves, devouring what remained of Donatello’s legacy. The stench of burning flesh mingled with the metallic tang of gunpowder.Talana ste

Talana lingered in the kiss, letting her lips soften against his, the night wrapping around them like silk. When she finally pulled back, her forehead remained against Massimo’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, but low, a sound she had come to rely on like a compass in a world that had spun far too many times.“Do you think we’ll ever stop counting losses?” she whispered.Massimo didn’t answer right away. His hand found hers on the rail, fingers interlacing. “No,” he said. “But maybe we can stop bleeding from them.”They stood like that for a while, two warriors dressed in night air and silence. Below, the sea growled softly, as if trying to keep its secrets.A knock came at the door behind them. Massimo turned. His posture shifted, not tensed, not hostile, but alert. He glanced at Talana before moving back inside.“Come in.”It was Marco, one of Mariano’s oldest men, graying at the temples, trench lines etched into his face like carved marble. He held a leather-bound case against his

The photograph sat on the desk like a relic from another life. Talana stared at it for the third hour straight, as if her mother might suddenly blink or speak from within the frame. The woman in the image looked older, gaunter, her face more drawn than Talana remembered, but the eyes were the same. Rosalina Sanchiano, alive in 2019. Or someone who wore her face.She couldn’t stop turning the question in her mind: "Was this the truth, or another carefully laid lie? A misdirection planted by De Marco before his fall? A ghost conjured to unsettle her?"Behind her, the door opened without a knock. Massimo stepped in, silent as shadow, a glass of water in his hand. He placed it beside her, brushing his fingers against hers. "Still no sleep angel?" he asked gently.She shook her head. "How can I sleep when every answer opens a deeper question?"Massimo looked at the photo, then the letter. He picked it up, scanned it again slowly, as if trying to absorb every stroke of the pen. When he fini

The sky over Florence was a brittle shade of winter blue, the kind that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to break. Inside the private chapel of the Sanchiano estate, nothing moved except for the golden flicker of votive candles, casting long shadows against ancient stone walls. The altar was cleared. The icons veiled. What was about to take place here wasn’t sanctioned by Church or law, it belonged to something older.Talana stood at the head of the nave, a tailored black suit replacing the bloodied silks of war. Her hair was swept back, a single strand curling free against her cheek. On her finger, the Sanchiano ring gleamed. No tiara. No crown. Just the weight of inheritance.Gianna stood to her right, fierce and calm in a dark crimson coat, holding the family ledger in gloved hands. Aria was on her left, silent but coiled, a blade beneath her dress. Massimo remained behind her, the only one who knew what it had cost to stand here.The pews were filled not with pries

The sun dipped low over the white rooftops of Tangier, bleeding orange and crimson across the Moroccan skyline. The ancient city buzzed with controlled tension. Beneath the illusion of diplomacy, something far more sinister coiled in the shadows.Massimo adjusted the collar of his dark tailored jacket, his gaze sweeping the opulent summit hall tucked within the ancient Kasbah fortress. Dozens of powerful figures had gathered, cartel heads, corrupt diplomats, and black market brokers. Among them stood Talana, poised and unreadable in a fitted navy dress that hugged her body like armor."Are we sure this is the place?" she asked quietly, her voice barely a breath against the crackling tension.Mariano, earpiece tucked discreetly in one ear, answered from her left. "It's confirmed. De Marco's last faction is meeting with financiers here. We cut off their Berlin escape, so this is their last stand."Massimo nodded. "Everyone's in position?"Mariano gave a sharp nod, his eyes flicking to t