Semua Bab Steel And Saddle : Bab 1 - Bab 10

The wind moved through Wren Hollow like a whisper from the grave—dry, persistent, and full of secrets. It stirred the dust along the path to the cemetery, lifted the edges of black skirts, and rustled the cottonwoods that lined the ridge like sentinels. Gabrielle Moreau sat astride her horse, Raven, watching the mourners gather below. Her posture was straight, her face unreadable. But her eyes—dark, sharp, and unyielding—missed nothing.They came in twos and threes. Ranch hands with smoke-stained collars. Women with sun-worn faces. Children clinging to hems, confused by the weight of silence. Gabrielle recognized nearly every face. Her father had helped most of them—patched roofs, lent tools, delivered calves in the dead of night. He had been the kind of man people relied on without asking why.Now he lay in a pine box, built by Gabrielle and old Mr. Talbot with hands that trembled more from grief than age. No warning. No telegram. No final words. Just the sound of a body falling in t

The Virelli estate sat on the edge of the city like a fortress—stone walls, iron gates, and windows that never let in enough light. Inside, everything gleamed with power: polished floors, imported art, and silence so thick it felt like a warning.Dante Virelli stood in his father’s study, staring at the ledger open on the desk. Names. Numbers. Deals. Debts. Every page was a record of control. Of blood.He hated it.He was twenty-two. Sharp-featured, cold-eyed, and already feared by men twice his age. But fear wasn’t power. It was a leash. And Dante had worn it since he was old enough to understand what the Virelli name meant.Julian Virelli had built an empire from smoke and steel. He’d taught Dante how to shoot before he could shave, how to read a man’s weakness before he could read poetry. He’d said things like “Mercy is a luxury. We don’t afford it.” And “Loyalty is earned in silence, not sentiment.”Dante had learned. But he hadn’t forgotten.He closed the ledger and walked to the

Seven years had passed. Gravenport had changed, but not as much as the people who once walked its shadows.Gabrielle Moreau was now twenty-four. A smallish burst of a woman, her presence filled every room she entered. Her long, voluminous red hair cascaded down her back, and her hazel eyes held fire and memory. She had grown into her beauty and her defiance, but the years had carved caution into her bones.Julian Virelli had tightened his grip on the city. His empire had expanded, his enemies silenced, and his secrets buried deeper than ever. He rarely left the estate, preferring the company of his ledgers and shadows. He grew more dangerous and powerful. Even his closet allies slept with one eye open. No one dared to cross paths with him, not especially after the news of how he his empire had conquered syndicates in Dellwire. Dante Virelli, now twenty-nine, returned to Gravenport a different man. Bigger and broader, his dark hair now cut close, his blue eyes colder than winter glass

Dante sat in silence, the birth certificate still in his hands. The light flickered across his face, revealing the storm behind his eyes.His father had stormed out of the meeting earlier on after the revelation was made.This was not how he had expected the meeting to go. He only thought the council was going to ensure that the Virelli clan was still secured through Dante. He had asked the council for more time to break the news to Dante but that was not the case today. The council leaders remained seated, watching him. They had dispersed the lower-level members, then one of them, a silver-haired man named Corwin, leaned forward. "You deserve the full truth."Dante didn’t speak.He wondered why his father did not just tell him by himself; why did the truth have to come from the council? Then he remembered that his father was a ruthless and heartless man; he honored his father only by duty, because even as a child, he had always known his father was a vile man, and surely there was a

Gabrielle began making quiet appearances in Gravenport’s public spaces—markets, libraries, and old council halls. She had decided that to get Julian, she would need the public to revolt against his hold on Gravenport. She also had to find answers to who exactly her father was and what role he played in the community. Her presence alone stirred whispers. She spoke to merchants and scholars, asking questions, listening. People began to remember Elias Moreau not as a traitor, but as a visionary.Children watched her with wide eyes. Elders nodded in recognition. The Moreau name, once buried, was rising again.In the East District, she helped distribute food. In the West, she attended a memorial for a community leader. Her movements were deliberate, her words few. But the city was listening. An awareness was beginning to form. Old tales about Elias and her mother were told, her elegance, her beauty, and her fiery red hair, just like Gabrille's. She visited the old archives, poring over re