All Chapters of Chains of Velvet, Heart of Fire: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The black vans moved in silence through the fog-draped valleys of Montenegro. Their engines were cut a half-mile before the drop point. One by one, over fifty operatives—Lucien's most elite—exited with suppressed rifles and dark uniforms. They melted into the mist, phantoms without a trace.At dawn, the camp emerged through the haze: a half-dozen tents, a central fire pit, a perimeter of minimal guard posts. This was Adriana's hidden base—temporary, improvisational, and ripe for taking.Lucien stood at the edge of a wooded clearing, eyes sharp behind his night-vision gear. His earpiece crackled:“Team Alpha in position.”“Bravo secured the ridge.”“Charlie on fire watch.”He nodded. Across the rolled map, he'd personally marked the escape routes, the med tent, the armory. Every detail.“Wait for my signal,” he whispered.When the first light of morning woke the encam

The quiet that fell over the Marchesi estate in the days that followed was the kind of silence Lucien had only read about in books—mythic, fleeting, the breath drawn before a storm breaks the sky.Across Europe, the shattered alliance between Isolde, Dell, Julian, Gabe, Ciro, and Cristiano had imploded into distrust and maneuvering. Assassination attempts. Disappeared couriers. Poisoned shipments. Lucien hadn’t lifted a finger since the fall of Adriana, and yet his enemies tore at each other like rabid dogs fighting over scraps of a feast they no longer had the stomach to eat.In the world of mafia politics, it was a kind of divine comedy. And Lucien? He played the quiet conductor of peace.Peace—however temporary—was a weapon too.And Lucien Marchesi knew how to wield it.The estate thrived under the truce.Vineyards bloomed again with disciplined workers returning to their posts. Trade routes that had once been guar

Dawn mist curled around the perimeter fence as Seraphina Vale crouched alongside Lucien Marchesi at the edge of the gravel access road. A black unmarked van idled behind them, thirty of Lucien’s best men strapped into armored gear. Their breath drifted in the cold air.The uplink facility hovered ahead in near-total silence: three low-slung hangars, a satellite array rising like skeletal fingers, and five guarded guard towers no taller than shipping containers. To reach it, they would cross the short stretch of open ground under those towers.“We bought you forty minutes before the towers rotate,” Anton whispered, checking his timer. “After that—they’ll ping. Then all hell breaks loose.”Seraphina leaned forward, pressing her hand on his arm. “We’ll be in and out before then.”Lucien gave a firm nod. “Stay sharp.”He flicked his earpiece. “Alpha move.”The front doors swung open on cue. The Marchesi men slipped into the hangars like smoke—tight and unseen—while Seraphina and Lucien ad

Lucien stepped from the private jet into the heated tumult of Dubai International Airport, the air humming with purpose. A black Phantom rolled to a stop on the tarmac. Inside the airport terminal, palm trees bowed under artificial breezes and travelers swarmed like currents around the upscale concourse. Lucien didn’t acknowledge the flash of cameras or the hush of watchful security. For him, each step toward the car meant ascending deeper into Aurora’s world—a world that couldn’t see him as anything but a negotiator.Encrypted comms crackled softly in his ear: “Board meeting in ninety. Echo team along your convoy,” Vincenzo’s methodical voice. “No surprises.” Matteo added confirmation: “All channels secure.” Lucien swallowed hope. He had entered this game as a masked player, his weapon hidden in charm. But he wore his calm like armor.Inside the Bentwood Tower penthouse, Lucien entered a hushed room lined with reflective walls and muttered titles. Eight men and women, all impeccably

Geneva’s dawn arrived gray and expectant, mist curling low over Lake Léman as Lucien climbed the steps of a municipal office building. Its marble columns, etched with ornate capitals, loomed like judges awaiting verdict. Beside him, Seraphina carried a leather satchel containing files and encrypted USBs—digital charges ready to freeze the rogue trustees once and for all.They passed lightly through security—Lucien offered diplomatic credentials; Seraphina gave hers as a “legal consultant.” Neither credential invited suspicion. Every word of preparation had been precise. They entered the vaulted marble hall, lined with portraits of past city magistrates and silent eyes.Inside, a glass-walled annex had been reserved. On a long table sat Antoine Beauchamp, a junior legal officer, ready to receive motions. Lucien settled across from him as Seraphina aligned the USBs.“These are the filings,” Lucien said, voice steady. “Statements, ledger proofs, sanction manifestos. They legally countera