All Chapters of Blood Ties And Silk Chains: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The docks woke before the city did. Fog clung to the cranes and cargo towers like a second skin, and the tang of brine mixed with the smell of diesel and iron. The tide was coming in slow, deliberate, like it knew its strength.Liora stepped from the black SUV with a scarf pulled high over her jaw and her coat buttoned against the wind. Bram opened the door for her, but she waved him off. “Stay close, but not too close. If they think I brought muscle, we lose before we start.”He hesitated. “They’re dockmen, not diplomats.”“That’s exactly why I’m here,” she said quietly, adjusting the small comm earpiece hidden in her collar. “They don’t deal in diplomacy. They deal in leverage.”The union’s main office was a warehouse disguised as one of the hundreds lining the pier—no signage, no guards in uniform, just two men in oil-stained jackets watching her approach. They recognized her before she spoke.“You’re early,” one said, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s good. Shows respect.”

Morning broke like a blade through fog—thin light slicing the horizon, the city still smoldering from the chaos of the docks. Liora hadn’t slept. She stood before the wall of monitors in the command room, every screen a cascade of numbers, currencies, and shifting accounts.At the center of it all blinked one name, highlighted in white.Emmerich Voss.International banking director. Corsair’s embedded treasurer. The Arbiters’ financier in plain clothes.Bram leaned against the console beside her, coffee gone cold in his hand. “You’re sure about this?”Liora’s eyes didn’t move from the data stream. “He’s not just laundering. He’s holding escrow for their field payments. Mercenary contracts, supply payouts, shell company transfers. All of it flows through Voss’s accounts.”Ines typed rapidly, her reflection flickering in the glass. “We cross-checked every outgoing from Corsair’s Tier-3 accounts against the union manifests. The timestamps align to the minute. Voss isn’t hiding the trail—

The church was nearly empty.Candles guttered along the marble aisle, their light shivering in the draft from the cracked stained glass. It smelled of incense, dust, and old sins—fitting, Liora thought. The Marcelli patriarch sat in the third pew, his heavy frame folded like a penitent, though his hands were too clean for repentance.She walked down the center aisle, the sound of her heels a slow metronome in the hush.He didn’t turn as she stopped beside him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice was worn velvet, soft enough to hide the steel.“Neither should you,” she replied. “But here we are.”Marcelli finally turned, eyes rimmed with red and age. “You want my confession, I suppose?”“I want names.”He smiled faintly. “Same thing these days.”“Not to me.” Liora slid into the pew beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “I’m not here for forgiveness, Mr. Marcelli. I’m here to dismantle what’s left of your empire.”He looked at her like she was a ghost. “Y

Rain hammered the courtyard like a verdict when Liora’s convoy pulled through the gates.The banker was in the backseat—hooded, cuffed, muttering through blood.Bram opened the rear door before the cars had fully stopped. “Clean extraction. Two tails lost on the expressway. No casualties.”Liora stepped out first, her coat soaked through, eyes flat with exhaustion but steady. “Bring him to Sublevel Two. No cameras.”Varian was waiting by the stairwell—dark shirt, sleeves rolled, stitches hidden under the edge of his bandages. He said nothing as she approached, only watched the movement of her jaw, the set of her shoulders. Command suited her. He hated how much it turned him on.“You led it?” he asked.She gave a short nod. “He folded after the third decoy route. His guard thought we were moving through the bridge district. By the time they realized, Bram already had him in the trunk.”“You made the call to split the routes?”“Yes.”Varian’s mouth curved—something between approval and

The city whispered before dawn.Not through newsfeeds or bulletins, but in low murmurs passed across cafés and alleyways. The New Queen walks beside a Resurrected King.The phrase spread like smoke.Nobody said their names aloud. But everyone knew who it meant.“Headlines are turning myths into policy,” Bram muttered, tossing the morning’s stack of clippings onto the table. “You two look at this—‘Power Couple or Coup D’état?’ ‘The Widow Who Outplayed the Wolves.’ Half of these people think you’re running the city now.”Liora didn’t look up. “Half of them are right.”Varian stood behind her chair, silent, watching her with something caught between pride and disbelief. The cast on his shoulder was gone; the scar beneath his collarbone still angry red. He moved like a man relearning his balance.“Let them talk,” he said finally. “The noise keeps our enemies guessing.”“The noise,” Bram said, “is painting a target the size of a cathedral on both your backs.”Liora turned a page in the fol