All Chapters of CLAIMED BY THE DEVIL DON.: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The silence in the master suite was not the silence of peace, but the deafening roar of a void. My rage was so absolute, so complete, that it felt cold, sharper than any blade I carried. I had dropped to my knees in the center of the room, not in prayer, but because my legs could no longer bear the weight of my failure.She was gone. Isabella. My anchor. The mother of my twins.The sheer audacity of Damon Salvatore. He had not only touched my most precious asset; he had annihilated my control, exploiting the one crack in my fortress, my own misplaced trust.I forced myself up, the grief immediately transforming into pure, kinetic energy. Grief could wait; vengeance could not. My focus locked onto the immediate betrayal. The looping security feed, the neutralized guards outside, the lack of resistance on the inner ring, it all pointed to one name.I didn't need to ask. I only needed to confirm the execution site.“Ivan. Alexander,” I barked into the secure line, my voice a low, vibratin

I stood in the war room. The enormous, multi-screen display wall was alight with every piece of information we possessed: satellite feeds, financial transactions, cargo manifests, and the smoldering report from Murmansk. But all I saw was a single, perfect image of my wife’s frightened face, followed by the sight of Irina’s lifeless hand.Grief is a luxury. Sorrow is a distraction. I had buried both somewhere cold and deep on the road back from Nizhny Novgorod, sealing them beneath the granite foundation of my purpose. I was no longer a husband, or a son, or even the Don. I was a weapon, honed by two losses and one overwhelming objective: retrieve Isabella and my sons. Salvatore thought he was being clever. He thought by taking Isabella, my heart, and killing Irina, my history, he would cripple me. He was wrong. He didn't break me; he simply stripped away the last layer of control. The man who cared about stability, about optics, about the fragile balance of power, that man is dead.

The meeting was set in a secure villa overlooking the Adriatic in Dubrovnik—a place of sun, light, and history that felt profoundly corrupted by the darkness we brought to it. I chose the location for its stark contrast to the Russian winter, and for its easy proximity to the Italian coast where the hunt would begin.I stood by the window, not admiring the view, but watching the three black armored cars wind their way up the hillside road. Behind me, the silence of the room was surgical, enforced by the armed men stationed at every doorway.Ivan approached cautiously, his movements stiff. “Vova, the Romano brothers are ten minutes out. Domenico, Rocco, and Enzo. No bodyguards are allowed past the outer gate, they understood the instruction.”“They understood the instruction because they understood the threat,” I corrected, my voice flat. “They are here because they have lost Isabella and they fear my consequence more than they fear Salvatore's revenge. Remind your men, Ivan: they are

The primary command center in Thessaloniki was chaos sculpted by fear. It was not a Volkov setup, too open, too many windows overlooking the Aegean Sea, but it was centralized, efficient, and located perfectly to watch the maritime routes Damon Salvatore would inevitably use. The room hummed with the frantic energy of two rival empires forced into the same choke point.Domenico and Enzo Romano were present, their Italian elegance clashing with the severe, dark suits of my Capos. They occupied the opposite side of the long steel table, segregated by loyalty and decades of mutual contempt. Only Rocco was missing; he was already en route to Bari to assume command of the sea assets I had gifted him, a beast unleashed.I stood over the central holographic map, which displayed the entire Mediterranean basin, layered with real-time tracking data: Volkov black money flows, Romano shipping logs, and, most crucially, the rapidly dissipating shadow assets of Salvatore.“Report,” I commanded, my v

The six hours had stretched into an agonizing eternity. The cold was a constant, vicious enemy, creeping into my bones and tightening the muscles around my abdomen. The contractions were no longer sporadic anxieties; they were structured, relentless waves of pain, each one a stark reminder of the impossibility of my situation. I sat with my back pressed against the weeping concrete, focusing solely on breathing and on the quiet movements of my twins.The pain. It’s a vicious cycle now, a cold tightening that promises the end of this standoff is near, one way or another. Vladimir is moving. I felt it in my bones. But he has to find me before the children arrive. I will not sign. I will not break. I owe my children a stable world, and I owe Vladimir my life.The scraping sound of the heavy steel door jolted me from my trance. The yellow light, harsher this time, flooded the cell. Damon returned, still pristine, still carrying the briefcase, but his eyes held a dangerous impatience.“You