Semua Bab Kingdom of Ash and Blood : Bab 81 - Bab 90

The road to Pompeii cut through the veins of southern Italy, ancient and silent, as if even time held its breath.Luca Moretti hadn’t spoken since they crossed the outskirts of Naples. He drove with one hand on the wheel and one on the thigh of the woman beside him — not for comfort, but possession. Amara didn’t push his touch away. She was too tired to fight, too wired to sleep.Instead, she stared out the window at the black outline of Vesuvius rising in the distance like a buried god.“How did you find the location?” she asked.Luca’s jaw clenched. “Through Esposito’s former accountant. The bastard was hiding in Dubai. Took two broken fingers and a bullet in the thigh before he spilled anything.”Amara blinked slowly. “You always were thorough.”Luca looked over at her then — not with warmth, but with something primal. “You don’t know the half of it.”They arrived at the ruins after dark.A private gate waited at the rear entrance — bribed and cleared. The official tour paths were

Messina had barely slept since Romano’s death. Blood had leaked into the cracks of the city’s underworld — not from the corpse, but from what it meant. Lawyers didn’t die in neat assassinations unless the chains behind them were more dangerous than their signatures. Amara leaned against the window of their suite, sipping black coffee. Her bones ached. Her eyes were bloodshot. But her mind? Alive. Calculating. Restless. The storm hadn’t passed. It had only scattered. “Did you sleep?” Luca asked, pulling on a crisp black shirt. Amara glanced over her shoulder. “I dreamt of fire.” He crossed the room, brushing her braid over one shoulder. “We lit too many flames to hope for rain.” Her lips curved faintly. “Then let them burn.” By noon, Mikel returned from his reconnaissance with a face carved in tension. “You’re not going to like this,” he said, handing Luca a dossier. Amara took it first. Inside was a series of photos — grainy surveillance shots, timestamped and geolocated fr

The Moretti estate slept beneath a bruised Sicilian moon.But Amara didn’t.She stood alone in the observatory tower, arms crossed as the sea wind tangled in her hair, mind spiraling like the storm clouds overhead.Luca had fallen into an uneasy sleep hours ago, but she couldn’t rest. Not after what she’d overheard.Matteo’s voice, behind the library door: “It’s time to restore the Rosetti order. Even if it means ending hers.”The words replayed in her head like a curse.She had come too far. Killed too many. Bled too much.To die now?Not a chance.She turned as a soft knock broke the silence behind her.Adriana stood in the doorway, black silk robe hanging from her pale shoulders, hair loose and wild.“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.Amara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”Adriana entered slowly, barefoot, holding a wine glass. “A warning.”“From you?”Adriana took a long sip. “We may hate each other, cara mia, but I’m not blind. Matteo’s moving behind Luca’s back. The old men of the

The moon rose blood-red over Palermo, casting a crimson glow across the Moretti estate. It wasn’t coincidence — it was omen.War was no longer a whisper. It was a scream beneath the Sicilian sky.Amara stood at the edge of the terrace, her mother asleep in the recovery suite behind her. The sea below whispered secrets — of vengeance, of power, of choices yet to be made.Luca joined her silently, handing her a glass of wine.“I thought you didn’t drink during war,” she said.“I make exceptions for queens who shoot Rosettis in the chest and walk away without smudging their eyeliner.”She allowed herself a faint smirk. “Flatter me again, and I’ll let you live.”He leaned close. “Flatter you again, and I’ll let you rule.”Their fingers brushed. Not affection. Alliance.Then Nico appeared at the door, face pale.“They’re here.”Amara turned. “Who?”“Rivals. Allies. Ghosts. Everyone.”The war council assembled in the Moretti war room — maps lining every wall, gunmetal lighting casting hard

Some enemies die. Others wait. And some?They crawl out of the ashes to finish what death couldn’t.Palermo – Underground Safehouse, MidnightThe room reeked of salt, smoke, and gun oil. Amara stood with her hands braced on the table map, her eyes hard as iron.“Matteo is dead. The Rosetti council is shattered. Why do we still have bodies dropping in Catania?”Nico slid a dossier across the table.“Because someone’s moving like Rosetti — but cleaner, colder. They’re not taking territory. They’re taking people.”Adriana stepped forward. “Three of our allied capos vanished. No ransom. No contact.”Luca’s voice was low. “This isn’t Rosetti. It’s deeper.”Amara picked up the dossier. A symbol was burned into the edges of the files — a ring of thorns.She blinked.“I’ve seen this before.”Flashback — Mexico, Age 15Amara knelt in blood, her first kill still warm beside her. The tattoo on the man’s neck—a ring of thorns—burned into her memory.Her mother’s voice echoed behind her: “Never tr