Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 91 - Chapitre 100

“Grief doesn’t ask for permission. It takes everything.”— Amara VarelaGranada — The Next MorningThe city still smelled of ash.Not the kind that faded after a fire. The kind that lived in lungs and refused to let go.Amara stood at the edge of what used to be Milo Nero’s fortress — now a blackened ruin. The fire had devoured it all. Walls. Men. Secrets.And maybe... Isabel.The sun was rising behind her, but it felt like dusk inside her chest.She hadn’t slept.Not since the flames.Not since she’d found her mother’s bracelet — twisted and charred — among the wreckage.Luca approached from behind. His coat was still singed from dragging her out of the inferno. He hadn’t said a word since.She didn’t turn to him.“Still no body?” she asked.He shook his head. “Only ashes. And blood.”“Then she’s alive.”His jaw flexed. “Amara...”“She’s not dead.”“She could be. You have to be prepared for that—”She turned then. Slowly. Her face was pale from smoke. Her eyes? Wild from disbelief.“

Florence — Twelve Hours After Vitale’s FallThey found Arturo Vitale crawling toward the garden gate, blood soaking his bespoke suit.He lived.For now.Amara knew it was better this way. Dead men couldn’t tremble. But broken ones? Broken ones made the others listen.Inside the safehouse, Nico poured whiskey into two glasses and slid one to Luca.“He’ll talk.”Luca didn’t move. “Eventually. If the pain doesn’t kill him first.”Adriana sat on the armrest of a chair, flipping through a slim black folder. “We confirmed it. Vitale paid off Milo's second-in-command two days before Isabel disappeared.”Amara leaned forward at that. Her fingers tapped the table with precise rhythm — five beats, pause, five beats, pause.“What else?”Adriana hesitated. “There’s chatter from Naples. La Morte Bianca has resurfaced.”“Where?” Amara asked.“Villa San Domenico. An abandoned estate. High surveillance. No known owner. But heat signatures inside.”“Send the team,” Amara said. “Now.”“We already did.”

Paris, France — Midnight Paris gleamed like a queen’s diamond necklace — elegant, cold, and hiding a thousand crimes. Amara stepped out of the black Mercedes at Rue de Rivoli, the Louvre towering behind her like a stone monarch. The air was laced with the scent of wet cobblestone, aged oil paint, and revolution. Beneath it all, blood. “Tell me this isn’t another trap,” Adriana said, glancing around warily. “I don’t do traps,” Amara replied, slipping her gloves on. “I set them.” The contact they were meeting tonight had intel on Matteo’s Paris safehouse. A girl. Ex-Interpol. Codename: Vesper. “Two minutes,” Nico said over comms. Amara’s heels echoed as she entered the gallery’s private wing. The Mona Lisa stared her down from behind glass. It almost felt like a warning. Underground — The Louvre Catacombs Vesper didn’t meet them above ground. Her message had been specific. “Below the stone, where ashes still whisper.” The team followed a hidden stairwell behind the Denon Wing

Zurich, Switzerland — MidnightThe rain in Zurich was elegant, like everything else in this city of polished glass and quiet deception.Amara’s boots tapped across the marble lobby of the Thorne Suisse Private Vaults. Her coat dripped rain onto the floor, ignored by the impeccably dressed receptionist who already knew her name.“We’ve been expecting you, Miss Varela.”“Of course you have,” she said, flashing the black obsidian ring—Stellan’s ring.She was here to retrieve the one thing he died protecting.The child’s identity.Thirty Floors Underground — Vault 9XThe door hissed open. Adriana followed her inside, eyes scanning the gold-stamped folders and titanium briefcases. At the very back, in a temperature-controlled drawer, lay a single white envelope sealed with red wax.The wax bore the sigil of the Halvorsen family.Amara opened it with surgical calm.Inside: a birth certificate, two surveillance photos, and a sealed document marked “For Amara. Read alone.”She flipped to the

The Catacombs – 11:47 p.m. The tunnels were cold and slick with centuries of death. Eva’s breath came in quiet exhales as she stepped through the ancient ossuary. Thousands of skulls watched her from the walls, stacked in macabre patterns. Her boots crunched over bone dust. Every sound echoed. Amara’s voice echoed in her ear through the earpiece. “You stay silent until I say. Understood?” Eva whispered, “Yes.” Above ground, Luca and Adriana were stationed at escape points. Nico had wired the entire tunnel system with surveillance and explosives. Eva was the bait. The Hound of Verona was the blade. Flashback – Two Hours Earlier Amara stood with Eva in a crumbling chapel above the catacombs, moonlight pouring through a stained-glass Virgin Mary. “You don’t have to do this,” Amara said. Eva strapped a blade to her thigh. “I’ve never had a choice. But now, I’m choosing.” Amara stared at her — really stared. “You’re not a weapon,” she said quietly. Eva looked up. “No. I’m yo