Semua Bab Twisted vows : Bab 71 - Bab 80

Alessia’s POV We touched down in The Hague just before dawn. Matteo was carrying the tapes in a steel case, handcuffed to his wrist. Honestly, I didn’t manage to sleep during the flight. I didn’t even speak. Breathing felt difficult until we finally reached the steps of the courthouse. Inside those walls, my past was waiting for me. Nikolai was waiting. And the last bullet that Elena had left behind was ready to be fired. The judge’s gavel slammed down once. The thick marble walls absorbed every sound. There stood Nikolai behind the glass, hands folded, looking just as calm as he did the day they took him away. When his eyes found mine, they softened, like a storm that suddenly remembers the sun. I stood up. “Your Honour,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady despite the tremor in my spine, “I have new evidence. From Elena De Luca herself.” A hush washed over the cold benches in the courtroom. Matteo’s POV The prosecution attempted to object, citing issues like chain of c

Alessia’s POVArturo De Luca was buried quietly, with no fanfare.No grand mausoleum to boast of his legacy.No marble tomb in sight.Just a simple plot in the corner of the old family graveyard, where the weeds seemed to reclaim whatever they could.I stood there alone while they lowered him down.No priests.No reporters.Just the wind, a silent witness.Matteo kept his distance by the gate, giving me space.Nikolai was a bit further back, arms crossed like a quiet sentinel.I didn’t cry.I didn’t pray.Instead, I softly murmured, hoping the roots would listen:“You showed me who I don’t want to be. That’s your only gift to me.”The De Luca NameBack at the villa, lawyers hovered like vultures.Piles of paperwork.Entangled finances.Properties spread across Italy, Switzerland, London.All drenched in the muck my father left behind.“Burn it,” I instructed Rafael.“Sell whatever you can. Give the proceeds to those who survived. To every child Elena tried to protect. To every mother

Alessia’s POV At midnight, the Basilica San Marco transformed into a ghostly cathedral. As I stepped through its grand doors alone—no wires, no guard, and no Nikolai’s warmth behind me—it was just me, my racing heartbeat, and the echo of my heels on marble older than my father’s sins. Moonlight streamed through the stained glass, casting vibrant images of saints and devils across my skin. In this eerie silence, Domenico Severi was waiting. Severi’s POV She looked the same, but there was something different—her eyes were sharper, colder. A perfect successor to a fallen king. I emerged from the shadows behind the altar. No gun. No guards. Just a man who understood that power shifts like sand. "Alessia," I said, spreading my hands like a priest offering communion. "So good of you to come." "Where’s the list?" she asked, cutting through my charm. I smiled. "Right here." I patted my coat pocket. "And the cost?" she pressed, though we both knew. Alessia’s POV He wanted im

Alessia’s POV I thought everything would end with that list. I figured tearing apart the De Luca empire would finally lay my father’s ghosts to rest. But the truth seems to bring new horrors. For every bishop taken down, another lawyer stepped up. For every judge who came clean, there was another accomplice ready to bury the truth deeper than before. So here I found myself again, standing at the marble steps of the international court, holding a single folder. Inside were the final testimonies, the tapes, and the records that Elena sacrificed her life for. Nikolai’s POV I watched her from where I stood in the crowd. No handcuffs this time, no glass walls separating us. Just Alessia — her hair pulled back, her suit sharp enough to cut, eyes locked on the rows of old men who would prefer to keep the past buried. Rafael leaned in closer to me. “Do you think she’s prepared for what this might cost her?” I didn’t turn to look at him. “She’s Alessia. She’s prepared for anything.” Insi

Nikolai’s POV Florence at night feels like a labyrinth of broken promises—old cobblestones beneath my feet, new blood in the air. Matteo and I moved like wolves through the back alleys, hidden from the eyes of tourists. No suits, no rings—just guns, shadows, and one name resounding through the darkness: Severi. The loyalists were like splinters—small, desperate, scattered. These were men who’d survived on my father-in-law’s leftovers and Severi’s hush money. Now, they were left with nothing but grudges and firearms. We found the first one hiding in a wine cellar near Santa Croce. He bolted the moment Matteo pried open the old, rusted door. But he didn’t get far. “Who’s still calling the shots?” I growled, my boot pressing down on his throat. He spat blood, his teeth loose like secrets. “No one’s giving orders,” he wheezed. “It’s a debt, Volkov. Blood for blood.” Matteo’s fist connected with his jaw. “Who’s next?” Matteo pressed, his voice low. But the loyalist just laughed—a