All Chapters of Chains of Velvet, Heart of Fire: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Dawn broke across Sicily, blood-red and quiet. The Marchesi estate roof caught first light as Luсien and Seraphina stepped out onto the balcony, flanked by Matteo, Anton, and Vincenzo. Beneath them, a shifting war spread across three separate battlefields—battlefields they would only watch, not invade.Their alliance had held, untainted by these bloody fractures, and now it was incumbent on them to assess the aftermath. Below the balcony, trucks loaded with Marchesi wine and exports rolled out under Roman columns—a testament to business proceeding, even amid carnage.The first flashpoint was Palermo’s docks: where Gabe Vale’s southern alliance attempted to push through a shipment. Their force—mercenaries loyal to Julian—fought a pitched skirmish with Cristiano's men. Guns sounded early, but the tide favored Gabe’s squad. They overwhelmed and captured the terminal, but not before Julian was severely wounded. He fell, his breaths rattled, and Gabe carried him from the fray, as Diego, Ga

The air in Carrara was crisp and indifferent as Seraphina Vale stepped onto the tarmac. The wind curled across the distant marble cliffs like smoke from an extinguished fire. Beneath her poised exterior, however, a storm had been gathering for years—one born not in blood, but in betrayal.She had learned early that survival was not something inherited; it was constructed.Ten years ago, she had been just fifteen, tucked in the protective uniformity of her elite boarding school in Florence. When the news came—a car accident, her mother dead—everything about her world collapsed inward.It wasn’t the death that haunted her. It was the location: a secluded stretch of private land owned by Gabriel Vale Sr., her wealthy, powerful stepfather. The man who had made himself family after sweeping her and her mother into his life. Merielle had been there for a supposed charity event. And she had died alone—no other witnesses.What followed were official statements, reports of failed brakes, drive

Her heart beat a steady drum as Seraphina slipped into the early-morning darkness beneath Palazzo Marchesi’s olive-lined terraces. She had made her decision. At midnight tonight, she would leave for Dubrovnik to meet a hidden informant—a name she never thought she'd see again.The note on her burner phone had said: “Come alone. Proof awaits.” And that had been enough.Back at the villa, Lucien watched her from the hall’s bronze mirror before turning back to paperwork as if nothing had shifted. But he felt the tremor.Something tense flickered in her eyes when he had asked, casually, “Anything else from Marseille?”She had smiled and said, “Just the same.” But the look had betrayed her. He’d held it—possibly too long—but she’d looked away. He had noticed.The day passed in tension. Seraphina traced her steps through old corridors, pausing to soften every glance at Matteo, Anton, Vincenzo.They all accepted her lean silence as part of their rhythms. But when she locked herself in the st

Lucien Marchesi pressed his palm against the cool leather wall of the commandeered warehouse room as gunfire erupted down the corridor.The lights flickered in sick patterns. He had arrived moments too late to stop Don Salvatore DiMartino from striking first—a bullet tearing into Lucien’s shoulder as he stepped into the hallway.Lucien stumbled, the world curdling around him.DiMartino, an imposing colossus in tailored black with a swagger built from years of terror, muttered under his breath, “Not everyone’s so lucky, Marchesi.”With brutal accuracy, he fired again.Lucien crumpled against the doorframe, blood blossoming across his jacket.The Don advanced, heels tapping. “You did good, kid. Thought you were ready to play with the old lions.”Lucien dropped to his knees, vision blurring, his cell phone in the other hand still recording.DiMartino raised his pistol. A flash—and then Matteo tackled him, the shot ringing out. He crashed to the floor, but in that moment, he managed to fi

The room was silent except for the drip of water from a leaky pipe and the occasional shuffle of boots outside the locked door.Seraphina had stopped crying hours ago.No more tears. No more questions.Only plans.Julian and Gabe had underestimated her once before.They’d believed they were dealing with a naive girl with a soft voice and ballerina grace. But they’d bought something else: a mind trained in war by a man who had seen more blood in backrooms than most doctors had in surgery.Elian’s voice returned again in memory. “What you can’t fight with fists, fight with fractures. Turn a man’s ego into your blade.”The door groaned open.Julian entered first, coat off, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Gabe followed—less swagger today, more irritability.“Brought you something,” Julian said, tossing a bottle of water near her feet. “You’ve earned it.”She didn’t reach for it.“Silent treatment?” Gabe sneered. “After all we’ve done for you?”She looked up slowly. “You mean all you’ve taken