Semua Bab Chains of Velvet, Heart of Fire: Bab 121 - Bab 130

It started with a breath—shallow, uneven, but new.Seraphina’s head snapped up from where she sat curled beside Lucien’s bed. For a moment she wasn’t sure. But then, again—his chest rose a little more deeply.And then his fingers twitched.“Lucien…” she whispered, reaching for his hand.His eyelids fluttered.The machines surrounding him beeped steadily, not frantically as they had for days. The monitors registered the change first—his vitals spiked just enough to draw the attention of the attending nurse, who rushed inside and radioed for Dr. Merez.But Seraphina didn’t move from his side. She leaned forward, her fingers threaded through his.Lucien’s brow furrowed. His lips parted, then closed again.“Lucien, it’s me. You’re safe,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re in the hospital. You made it. We got you out.”He let out a low groan, and his eyes finally opened.Dimly. Slowly. But they opened.Storm-colored irises—rare and arresting—gazed back at her, almost silver when the light

Three and a half years had passed since Allegra last whispered her son’s name aloud.Not because she had forgotten it—she would die with it on her tongue—but because names had power, and grief only made her stronger when left unspoken.She sat at her writing desk in the heart of Villa d’Oro, once a summer retreat, now a fortress rebuilt in grief and silence. Its halls were patrolled not by servants, but by men in tailored suits who carried guns instead of trays. Every corner of the estate had been rewired, rearmed, and reborn under her command.Allegra Ventresca was not mourning.She was planning.And now—finally—the game had opened again.She had read the whispers in the newspapers and the encrypted forums.A failed assassination attempt on Lucien Marchesi. Interpol raids. A resurfaced Gabe Vale Sr. moving through the underworld like a reawakened specter.Most would panic.Allegra smiled.Chaos had always been her favorite condition.Where others saw Vale Sr. as a threat, Allegra saw

The sun hadn’t yet broken over the Sicilian coastline when the rotor blades carved a howl through the predawn silence. Below, the land turned from black to deep violet. Stone roads unfurled like veins, and the vineyards vanished into a cliff face overlooking the sea.Lucien Marchesi gripped the frame of the open helicopter door, storm-colored eyes narrowed against the wind. His breath was steady. His silence, colder than the steel beneath his boots.“They hit the safehouse shortly after 3:00 a.m.,” Vincenzo reported beside him, his voice crackling through the comms. “Six total. Clean entry. Disguised as special operations. No mistakes.”Lucien didn’t speak.“They took Lucio.”Still no reaction—only the tightening of his jaw, the hollow expansion of his chest as if the air itself dared weigh on him too heavily.“Elian survived,” Vincenzo added. “Barely. Knife wound to the abdomen. Lost a lot of blood, but he held them off long enough for backup to recover the surveillance footage.”Luc

The storm had passed—but the echoes of Allegra Ventresca’s downfall lingered in every marble corridor of the Marchesi estate.Outside, the sun touched the limestone walls with false serenity, casting long shadows over windows too old to forget what they’d seen. Inside, guards moved like ghosts. Rooms were swept, systems were re-secured, and a child’s laughter—Lucio’s—bounced down the east hallway with a defiance that felt like victory.But Lucien Marchesi didn’t feel victorious.He stood at the center of the study, the very room where Giorgio once signed trade agreements with empires and Valeria read books no one knew she owned. The scent of old parchment and polished walnut grounded him in a history that had once been stolen, then reclaimed at a cost.On the desk sat the audio device recovered from Allegra’s vault. Still warm.“If you’ve found this,” Valeria’s voice had said, brittle and unfinished, “then it’s already begun.”Lucien played it again. Over and over. Each time it felt m

The Marchesi estate had weathered storms before—of bullets, betrayal, blood. But this time, the air itself felt different.Heavier. Charged.As if something ancient was waking beneath the stone.Lucien stood at the northern overlook, hands clasped behind his back, watching the estate grounds shift from tranquil to tactical. His men were repositioning. Additional towers erected. Electronic countermeasures layered like armor across the perimeter. A double line of surveillance drones circled overhead, their paths crisscrossing like a net of invisible fire.Elian had arrived with another truck of former agents—men who had once worked beyond governments, now loyal only to the man who saved their families from the war the world pretended never happened.By noon, the estate was no longer a home.It was a fortress.“Status,” Lucien said without turning.Matteo stepped up beside him, holding a tablet. “All