All Chapters of Bound By Mafia Blood: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Sanchiano War Room – Evening folder—Rosalina – Final Messages. They'd taken a breather after the first video had played. Now Talana sat stiffly, arms folded across her chest, as if bracing for more impact. Massimo stood behind her now, his hands gently gripping her shoulders. Roberto and Mariano flanked the opposite side of the long oak table. No one dared speak. The video began. Rosalina’s voice, raw and weathered, filled the room once again, before her face appeared. She was in a sterile hospital room, sunlight spilling in through half-closed blinds. Her dark hair hung loose around her pale face, IVs snaking from her arm. > “If you’re seeing this, it means I didn’t make it,” she began, her voice wavering. “Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen and ran away. I love you papa." Tears streamed down their faces. For the forst time Don Sanchiano had shown real emotion after his daughter left home. "Papa, I have a daughter, Talana, please keep your protective eyes over her. Pablo a

Back in Moscow, buried deep within an undisclosed bunker, Donatello sat across from Viktor Sokolov. Though the cold bled through the concrete walls, the real chill came from something far more dangerous than winter.“You don’t usually come crawling to old ghosts,” Sokolov said, his Russian accent thick but sharp.“I’m not crawling,” Donatello replied coolly, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. “I’m offering what you’ve always had a taste for, war.”Sokolov arched a brow. “Mmm. You always did know how to flatter. What do you want?”“I want the vault protected, the Morelli empire reduced to ash, and Talana Fabrizio, pardon me, Sanchiano, eliminated.”Sokolov tilted his head. “Talana Fabrizio... That’s who you’re targeting?”Donatello exhaled slowly. “She’s become a serious problem in our world. We took out her mother years ago, but the girl? She’s Don Roberto’s blood. The new Dona of the Sanchiano family.”“You’re poking at a sleeping beast, going after Sanchiano. You

Darkness came first. Not the quiet kind. Not sleep. It was violent, chaotic, full of screaming metal and Massimo’s voice—“Talana!”—echoing through crumbling stone, through the fire, through the void.Then, silence, followed by pain. Talana gasped as consciousness clawed its way back into her skull. Her eyes snapped open to cold fluorescent lights. The sterile scent of antiseptic and steel replaced the choking dust and blood. Her lungs pulled in air like it might disappear again.She tried to sit up. Her body screamed.“Scheisse,” a voice muttered, and hands were immediately at her shoulders. “Dona Sanchiano, you must not move.”A woman in surgical scrubs stood over her, blonde, severe, and efficient. Not German military. Civilian, but trained. Talana registered the symbol on her arm: a faded crest, Sanchiano.“Where…?” Her voice cracked like dry ice.“You’re in Berlin. Below Tiergarten,” the medic answered in clipped English. “A private Sanchiano med-hold. You were pulled from the cat

The only thing more dangerous than a grieving woman is one who has nothing left to lose. And Talana Fabrizio Sanchiano had nothing left to lose.The building screamed in firelight. Not metaphorically, but literally. Reinforced steel and glass snapped like bones under heat. Gunmetal fixtures hissed. Electrical lines sparked from the ceilings like veins caught in a seizure. And beneath it all, the sound of screaming, men choking, trying to escape the fate they’d earned.Talana stood across the street with Mariano, the flames dancing in her pupils, her face unreadable. “That’s the third this week,” Mariano muttered, brushing soot off his jacket. “We keep this up, and Berlin will run out of shadows.“Good,” she said. “I want De Marco to feel exposed. Cornered. No one walks away.”Talana was wrapped in gauze from yesterday’s knife fight with a De Marco enforcer. Blood still stained her nails. She hadn’t slept. Hadn’t stopped moving. Not since Katerina died.They cremated her that morning.

Sanchiano safehouse, Berlin – 2:12 a.m. The war room pulsed with low light, tense voices threading through maps of Berlin’s underground. Coordinates glowed like veins across the table—marked targets, intercepted routes, ghost agents in De Marco’s pocket. Talana stood at the head of it all, her spine straight, her face unreadable, delivering orders with the precision of a general.Mariano paced near the wall. Matteo translated fresh intel from Bucharest. No one noticed the shadow slipping through the side door, no one except Talana. Her body went still before her mind caught up.A presence, one that slammed into her ribs like a memory she hadn’t dared to hope for. Then she saw him. The man she would die for, Massimo.He moved like a storm disguised in human skin, shoulders broader, face sharp with unshaved stubble and hollow eyes that had seen too much. A long scar ran from beneath his jaw to his collarbone, fresh and angry. He wore black. Everything about him was dark. But it was him.