Semua Bab Twisted vows : Bab 41 - Bab 50

Alessia’s POVMonaco sparkled like gold.But, you know, gold can be melted.And I was here to bring the heat.Rafael Ardovini wasn’t just some name on Elena’s list. He was a fixer, the type of guy who turned chaos into cash, secrets into trade, and kids into pawns. He’d vanished years back—people thought he was dead. But Elena had written two words next to his name in pencil:“Regrets everything.”That meant he was human, right?So, he could either be broken or maybe even redeemed.We rolled in as night fell.Monaco was buzzing—bright lights, high stakes, and way too many people hiding behind glass.But I wasn’t here for the games.Nikolai had tracked Rafael’s last known move to a jazz club in an old casino vault—Le Nocturne. You could only get in with an invite, and it was guarded by facial recognition and armed guys.We snuck in, you know, doing what we do best—lies, charm, and fake ID’s.Inside, the music was loud, the air thick with cigar smoke, and the crowd didn’t seem to care a

Alessia’s POVIsabella locked the door behind her. But she wasn’t worried. In fact, she smiled—like she often did, the kind of smile that had brought down powerful men and built up empires. I remembered that same smile from the funerals she had arranged, even Elena’s.“Is this where I beg for mercy?” she asked, walking further into the room.I stayed quiet.Nikolai stepped up, gun in hand—not aimed at her, but he had it ready.Isabella glanced at it, unimpressed.“You won’t kill me,” she said coolly. “Not here. Too many people watching.”“This place is off-grid,” Nikolai replied. “No cameras. No backup. Just you, me, and the daughter you betrayed.”Now Isabella turned to face me fully.“You’re still angry.”“Anger? That was ages ago,” I said. “Right now, I’m just focused.”“Focused on what?” she asked, tilting her head. “Justice? Revenge? Or forgiveness?”I pulled out Elena’s diary from my coat and tossed it on the table between us.“You’re going to answer for her. For Matteo. For eve

Alessia’s POVThe stables still smelled like hay, but there was blood on the wood. Not Luca’s, but still—such a haunting sight. There was a small boot print, dragged along, followed by big boot prints all over the place like a chaotic dance.Gregor’s body was slumped against the wall, throat cut, mouth open as if trying to warn us.We were too late. Again.I was holding the black card Viktor left behind, his handwriting almost like a cruel poem:“Some legacies die screaming. Yours will kneel.”— V“You think I’ll kneel, Viktor?” I whispered to myself.“I’ll make you crawl.”Matteo was looking for any sign of Luca—broken branches, torn cloth, a smear of red on a rock. Each one was a clue, like breadcrumbs.Nikolai was moving around the perimeter. He looked serious, but I could see the tension in his jaw. He felt guilty.But this wasn’t about blame. It was about blood.We found a single camera still running up in the barn rafters. It had been hidden, missed by the attackers. The footage

Alessia’s POVWe slipped back into Italy using fake names.No reporters. No questions. No evidence left behind.Rafael took us to a hidden spot near Naples—on a cliff, away from everything.But calm can be deceiving.Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it’s safe.Sometimes, it’s just the stillness before everything goes sideways.Luca slept soundly that first night.Matteo stayed close, always just a foot away. His hands didn’t shake as much anymore, but I could still see the scars of what he’d been through.I watched from the door’s crack.And it hurt.Because now I had the whole picture.Elena didn’t die because of her choices.She died because of my father’s actions.Arturo De Luca.My dad.My nightmare.“You don’t have to confront him yet,” Nikolai said, standing behind me. “Not now.”I turned to face him.“I’ve waited three years. I can’t wait anymore.”The De Luca mausoleum looked just like I remembered—cold, over the top, and grand for no good reason.Black marble. Golden gate

So, here I am, looking at the Vatican. It’s all bright and shiny, like some holy scam. Beautiful and sacred, sure. But I’ve seen enough of these places to know that power’s always hiding in the quiet. And let me tell you, that silence? It’s louder than a bomb sometimes. Gianni gave us a name: Monsignor Calvino. Quiet dude, but his file’s got a lot of noise. He used to be a reformist, but got tangled up in Vatican politics. Elena used to trust him—before she took off, before she died. Now Viktor wants him out of the picture. So, he’s still got something to say, huh? Getting in? Easy peasy. But not making a scene on holy ground—that’s the tricky part. Alessia made it clear we had to keep things clean, but she never said anything about being gentle. So, I dressed like the priest they’d really be scared of—black clothes, quiet like a shadow, and ready for anything. Matteo and Alessia stayed back at the safehouse, close enough to jump in if I didn’t make it back. I moved through those