Lahat ng Kabanata ng The king of Ashes : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

(Isabella’s POV) The penthouse was a masterpiece of cold, intimidating beauty. It felt less like a home and more like a museum curated by a man with a heart of stone. The marble floors were so polished I could see my own terrified reflection in them. The art on the walls was priceless, the furniture exquisitely uncomfortable. It was a world of untouchable perfection, and I felt like a stray cat that had wandered into a palace. My room was luxurious, with a bed so large it felt empty and a view that stretched to the curve of the earth. But the windows didn’t open. The door locked from the outside. Alessandro had called it a gilded cage, and he was right. Every beautiful object was just another bar. The housekeeper, Sofia, was a stern woman with eyes that missed nothing. She showed me the room, her expression unreadable. “The Don expects you to be ready for breakfast at eight o’clock sharp,” she said, her voice crisp. “Your meals will be served with him. You are not to leave the

(Isabella’s POV) The study became my world. The vast penthouse, with its cold marble and silent corridors, faded away. My entire existence narrowed to the damaged canvas and the silent, watchful presence of the man who had entrusted it to me. A fragile, unspoken truce formed between us. The air in the study was different—thicker, more intimate. It was a space outside the roles of captor and captive. Here, he was not the Don, and I was not the peace treaty. We were just two people connected by a shared, broken past. I began the painstaking work. I spent days just studying the canvas, documenting the damage, testing tiny, hidden spots for solvent reactions. The process was slow, meditative. It required a patience and focus that allowed me to temporarily silence the grief and fear that were my constant companions. Alessandro would come in late at night. He never spoke. He would simply stand in the doorway, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and watch. His presence was no longer ju

(Alessandro’s POV) The kiss broke the dam, but the flood that followed was not one of peace. It was a torrent of paranoia and fear. My intelligence network, the best in Chicago, brought me whispers that turned my blood to ice. Dante Falcone, the old Don’s psychopathic heir, was not licking his wounds in exile. He was gathering the most violent dregs of his father's organization, fueled by drugs and a burning, obsessive hatred for me. And his primary obsession, the target of his twisted revenge, was Isabella. The reports were chilling. He spoke of her as his property, stolen from him. He saw her not as a symbol of peace, but as a traitor to her name. He wanted her back, not out of love, but out of a perverse need to possess and destroy what I now held dear. The worst part? There was a leak. Dante knew things he shouldn't know—details about my security rotations, the layout of my secondary properties, my private movements. There was a traitor in my organization, someone close en

(Alessandro’s POV) It was a mistake. I knew it the moment I agreed to let her go to that store. But the look of caged desperation in her eyes had worn down my resolve. I had become the monster she saw me as, and I couldn't stand it. So I let her go, surrounding her with a net of invisible security so tight I thought she'd be safer than she was in my own home. I shadowed her myself, parked in an armored sedan across the street, watching her through the store window, feeling like a fool. I watched her move through the aisles, her face lit up with a genuine interest that made my chest ache. She was so beautiful, so alive when she was in her element. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a different life, one where I could give her simple things like this without the constant threat of war. Then I saw them. Two men. Their posture was all wrong, their attention fixed on her with predatory intensity. Dante’s wolves. My blood ran cold. The traitor in my organization had struck ag

(Isabella’s POV) Bliss. I had never known the true meaning of the word until I woke up in Alessandro’s arms. The morning light streamed through the massive windows, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. I felt safe. I felt cherished. I felt a profound, soul-deep peace that I had thought was lost to me forever. Lying there, with my head on his chest, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart, the world outside with its dangers and its shadows ceased to exist. He was no longer my captor. He was my partner, my love, the other half of my soul. He had proposed, not as a Don making a strategic move, but as a man baring his heart. Our future, once a terrifying blank space, now stretched before me, a thrilling, beautiful canvas we would paint together. He stirred, his arms tightening around me. He pressed a kiss to my hair, his lips soft and warm. “Good morning, mia regina,” he murmured, his voice a sleepy, contented rumble. My queen. I tilted my head back to look at hi