Twisted vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 151 - チャプター 160

The drive back to the estate felt like a blur, with sirens wailing in the distance and the metallic scent of gunpowder clinging to Alessia’s clothes. Her heart raced, the echo of her father’s voice looping in her mind… replaceable. It crawled down her spine like poison. Rossi parked behind the gates, and the mansion swallowed them whole, drenching the moment in silence. Guards moved fast, sealing the perimeter, locking doors, bolting windows. Whatever went down tonight… the Family was about to feel the repercussions. Nikolai got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened her door, his eyes scanning her face like he was looking for hidden wounds. “You’re shaking,” he said softly. “I’m cold,” she lied. He didn’t press further. Just shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It carried the scent of gun oil mixed with something warm that she couldn’t quite pin down. Rossi cleared his throat. “I’ll scan the documents and send encrypted copies to the Board

The hall shone bright, almost dreamlike, with chandeliers dripping crystals and marble floors so polished they seemed to reflect the sins of everyone present. The Rossi Gala had always been a grand affair, but tonight, there was an unsettling tension beneath the sweet strains of violins — something ominous. Alessia walked in, clad in a dress the color of revenge — rich crimson, with a slit high enough for her to move freely, yet snug enough to hide a weapon. The sound of her heels echoed like a ticking clock. Heads turned, and soft murmurs trailed behind her. She paid them no mind. By her side was Nikolai, dressed in a sleek black velvet mask and tux that fit as if it were crafted by the devil himself. He eyed the crowd like a general surveying his troops. "Keep your eyes up and your focus sharp. There are plenty of opportunities here." "I’m not nervous," Alessia replied quietly. "Good," he replied. "Nerves can get you in trouble." Across the room, Giovanni raised his champagne

Morning cracked open like shattered gold against the safehouse windows, but not a single soul was sleeping. Maps were strewn across the table, coffee cups stacked high like towers of stress. The bunker buzzed with plans, while outside, the world thrummed with the latest Rossi scandal. Alessia fixated on the surveillance still of the girl labeled Asset Eleven. Her sister. Same cheekbones. Same stubborn jaw. Alive. The idea coursed through her like gasoline. Nikolai leaned casually against the table, his arms crossed, voice calm yet cutting. "The compound's heavily guarded, with thermal sensors and rotating patrols. If we rush in, we’re dead before we even reach the gate." Alessia's fingers twitched with impatience. "So we don’t rush. We ghost." Giovanni pointed to the screen. "There’s a drainage tunnel under the west wall. Old and forgotten. The Serpents only post two guards there." Matteo grimaced. "Ugh. Tunnels. They smell. And there are rats. Trauma." Nikolai slapped Matteo’s

They moved like shadows. Before dawn broke, the world was a dull gray and thin; even the birds were silent. The four of them—Alessia, Nikolai, Giovanni, Matteo—sneaked through the industrial outskirts of the Rossi archive compound, their boots damp and breath visible in the cold air. Sienna had been taken to a secure room a couple of blocks away with a couple of Rossi's quietest guys; she needed protection, not a show. Alessia's jaw was so tightly clenched it ached. "You ready for this?" Nikolai whispered, his voice low and steady. He double-checked the comms, his gun, and then her face, as if she was the only thing that mattered. "Born ready," she replied, although a smile didn’t touch her lips. Giovanni pressed a gloved finger to his lips and pried open the side gate with a crowbar. The compound had a musty scent of aged paper, machine oil, and dreams turned sour. The cameras around the perimeter moved in slow arcs—thanks to Giovanni's edits, they were blind for thirty beautifu

The van sped into the industrial district, almost as if it were fleeing from something. The rain had picked up again — sharp and stinging — and the city was awash in the scent of damp concrete and oil. Sirens echoed in the distance, but tonight they felt closer: boots crunching, radios crackling, and men who gave off a vibe of wealth and danger. Nikolai drove aggressively; Matteo sat up front, constantly checking the mirrors. Giovanni held the dashboard tightly, knuckles pale. Alessia had the drive resting in her lap, the weight of it a constant reminder of the stakes. Every second ticked away like a beat of a metronome, leading them closer to chaos. Forty minutes wasn’t long. Just a brief moment, really. They navigated the streets with a cold efficiency — three turns, a flickering old billboard, a rusty fence — then glided into a shadowy loading yard where a lone white van was idling. No plates, no lights. Just their breath showing in the chill air. “Target’s in the east unit,” M