Semua Bab BURNING EMPIRE: Bab 51 - Bab 60

The storm inside the estate had quieted, but tension still hung in the air like smoke after a battlefield. Derek had disappeared into whatever corner of the mansion he claimed as his new war base, and Leo was tucked safely into a different guest room, away from velvet pillows and sass-laced violence. Matteo hadn’t slept. He stood on the balcony outside his room, arms folded against the railing, head down. The night was warm, but it couldn’t melt the ice inside him. Everything was fraying—Leo’s safety, Dominic’s cold mask, Derek’s rage, and his own fragile heart. Behind him, the glass door slid open. Dominic stepped out silently, two glasses in hand. He offered one without a word. Matteo took it. Didn’t drink. "Derek’s... a lot," Dominic said finally, voice quieter than usual. "He’s a damn hurricane. With designer boots," Matteo muttered. Dominic huffed a small laugh. "That he is." They both stood in silence, gazes sweeping over the dark garden beyond. "Thanks for s

The house was silent. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that came after shouting, after slammed doors and burning eyes and words no one could take back. It was the silence that made your skin crawl, the kind that echoed louder than screams. Dominic hated that kind of silence. It made him feel like a stranger in his own home. He sat in his office, hands clasped tightly, elbows digging into his knees. The veins on his hands bulged. His jaw clenched. His entire body felt like it had absorbed the blast of the argument — like he had taken every word Derek threw at him and swallowed it whole. And still, it wasn’t the shouting that haunted him. It was the finality of Derek’s silence as he left. The way he didn’t cry. The way he didn’t fight anymore. Dominic hadn’t moved from the chair since. The door creaked open quietly. Not the urgent kind of opening. The gentle kind. He knew who it was before he looked up. "You didn’t have to be that hard on him," Matteo said quietly. He stepped insid

The morning light was soft, golden, and slow—slipping through sheer curtains like honey melting across the room. It pooled onto the bed where two bodies lay tangled together beneath rumpled sheets. Matteo shifted first, eyes blinking open to the sound of Dominic’s steady breathing beside him. For a moment, he just watched him. Dominic looked different in sleep. The sharpness was gone from his face, the bite in his jaw softened. His lips parted slightly, lashes brushing against high cheekbones. He looked… untouched. Like no blood had ever dried on his hands. Matteo sighed and pressed closer, his forehead resting lightly against Dominic’s bare shoulder. “You’re staring again,” Dominic murmured, voice thick with sleep. Matteo smiled faintly. “I like the view.” Dominic cracked one eye open, turning to look at him. “It’s not polite to ogle a sleeping man.” “Good thing I’m not polite.” Dominic chuckled low in his throat, then reached up, tucking a piece of hair behind Matteo

Chapter 57 – There Was No Calvary The warehouse looked the same. Maybe that was the problem. Matteo stood beneath the rusted archway, water dripping from the torn sleeve of his hoodie, heart thudding like a war drum. The night air was thick with moisture and rot. He could smell the mold, the damp metal, the echo of something old and wrong. He hadn't been back here since the beginning. Since they gave him the pouch. Since they gave him the lie. The doors groaned as he pushed them open. Inside, the air was stale. Dust curled around his boots like smoke. The place was mostly empty now, save for the cracked table in the center and the two men who waited behind it. Two. Not three. The tall one stood like a shadow carved from iron. The other — older, twitchier, always drumming his fingers — gave Matteo a tight smile. "Well, look who remembered his roots," the older man said. Matteo didn't respond. He walked forward slowly, each step calculated. The flash drive was in his jacket po

Matteo stopped counting the days. It didn’t matter anymore. Time didn’t move the same in this place. Sometimes he thought he heard clocks ticking somewhere in the walls. Sometimes he thought he was dreaming. He slept in shifts. Ate what they gave him. Refused the rest. Refused the file on the table, the neatly stacked evidence, the slow poison of persuasion. But the maze? The maze haunted him. Every hallway was sterile. Every turn betrayed him. He tried marking walls with his fingernails. Tried counting steps. Every route led him back. The floor plan changed. He was certain of it. The woman in red came once every two days. Sometimes with a smile, sometimes with fury. She always asked the same questions. "Are you ready to tell the truth?" Matteo always answered with silence. --- Elsewhere, Dominic lit a match and threw it on a table soaked with vodka. The warehouse exploded behind him as he walked away. "Any leads?" he asked. The lieutenant coughed beside him, singed and