All Chapters of Chains of Velvet, Heart of Fire: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

It began not with a bullet, but a signature.Lucien Marchesi stood at the head of the long conference table in the war room, a thick dossier of papers beneath his hand. In the center of the table lay the Codex copy: encrypted drive, black case, signed chain-of-custody form. Each page was authenticated, time-stamped, and sealed with biometric confirmation.Across from him, Detective Elian leaned forward, expression unreadable, as he slid the final copy of the agreement toward Lucien."This makes it official," Elian said. “Once you hand this over, the Codex and all related intel become part of Interpol's evidence vault.”Lucien’s eyes didn’t waver. “That’s where it belongs.”He signed. One stroke. One name. And the weight of twenty years of empire passed from blood to law.In the eastern wing of the estate, Vincenzo oversaw a wall of screens streaming data from servers across Istanbul, Dubai, Buenos Aires, and Brussels. Each node had been tracking shell companies, fake IDs, private bank

The estate in Provence had gone silent.No smoke. No alarms. No guards at the gate.Just stillness.Lucien stood at the edge of the treeline, boots crunching over gravel and snow-dusted earth, rifle strapped across his back. The rest of the team—Vincenzo, Seraphina, Elian, Matteo—followed closely, weapons drawn, hearts already bracing for what they would find.They reached the front entrance. The gate was half-sheathed in ice, hinges twisted where an explosion had torn through.Lucien raised a hand. “No one fires unless I do.”He moved forward into the silence.What they saw inside carved itself into memory.Bodies.Four agents lay sprawled across the front corridor. Two with single shots to the head, the others slumped in defensive positions, blood pooling beneath them.No sign of resistance alarms. No panic. It had been surgical. Cold.Matteo moved ahead, sweeping the next hallway. “Their comms are fried. Burnt through at the frequency core. Someone wanted no record of this breach.”

Night blanketed Tripoli in smoke and silence.The harbor district had emptied just after midnight. Fishing boats were moored. The street lamps near the grain silos had been cut deliberately. Intentional. From a distance, the facility looked abandoned.But Lucien knew better.He crouched on the ridge with Seraphina, Vincenzo, and three of Vincenzo’s most trusted black ops contractors. A dry breeze stirred dust through the cracks in the cement. The grain silo sat like a monolith against the stars, the corrugated metal sheathing glinting just barely from their NVG lenses.Matteo’s voice crackled in Lucien’s ear.“East side guard loop confirmed. One-minute rotation. Two-man formation. No heat inside the grain bays, but I’m picking up faint signatures in the substructure.”Lucien’s voice was a whisper. “Any sign of Lucio?”“Same signal. Same position. He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.”That meant sedated. Or worse.He didn’t say it aloud.They crossed the eastern field low, past rusted ba

The last thing Seraphina remembered was the weight of the detonator in her hand, the heat from Lucien’s blood on her chest, and the way Lucio looked at her, wide-eyed and silent, trusting her in the worst moment of their lives.She’d stood between them and the enemy.Then she pulled the trigger.Silence.And now, cold.Her eyes opened to dim, sterile light, the faint hum of ventilation, and a low ache across every inch of her body. Her shoulder throbbed. Her ribs screamed when she tried to shift. But she was alive.Alive.Which meant someone had a reason to keep her breathing.The room around her was too clean, too controlled. The walls were a dull matte gray. The bed beneath her was standard, thin mattress, single sheet. No visible windows. One door. One camera.Not a hospital.Not a military base.Something in between.She sat up slowly, ignoring the tug of pain. She’d lived through worse.But she’d never felt this kind of stillness before.Then came the knock.Soft. Sarcastic.And

The air in the safehouse was heavy with focus. Morning light filtered through slatted blinds, cutting pale bars of gold across the hardwood floor. Lucien sat at the head of the central planning table, hunched over a file that Matteo had decrypted during the early hours. It was a mess of redacted memos, contract routes, and deployment manifests, each piece a fragment of Tobias Marren's movement pattern.Vincenzo leaned over his shoulder, pointing at a line of numbers."This one repeats. Every third week, same airspace, same burn pattern. He’s using a privately leased jet under the alias Renner Kael."Lucien nodded slowly. "Has the flight touched down?""Ten minutes ago. Tripoli sector, just outside the secondary commercial field. Not a major hub. Private carriers only."Matteo brought up a live feed from a drone circling overhead. On the screen, a man in a dark field jacket and sunglasses stepped down the metal stairs from the jet, flanked by two plainclothes escorts."That's him," Matt