บททั้งหมดของ The king of Ashes : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

(Alessandro’s POV) For one, single, crystallized moment, the world ceased to exist. There was only the smirking, triumphant face of my brother on the laptop screen and the panicked, tinny voice screaming of a breach in my comm. The Citadel. Isabella. The frozen horror lasted a heartbeat. Then, it shattered, and in its place was a fire so cold and absolute it burned away all thought, all strategy, all reason. There was only a single, primal command echoing in the void of my soul: Get to her. “Go!” I roared, the sound ripping from my throat. I was already moving, turning my back on the dead men and the ghostly image of my brother. “Get us back. Now!” My men, elite and disciplined, didn't hesitate. They fell in around me, a phalanx of silent, grim-faced soldiers, as we sprinted down the pier. The high-speed run through the industrial sector and onto the main thoroughfare was a blur of screeching tires and the blare of the Maserati’s horn. I drove, my hands strangling the steeri

(Alessandro’s POV) The dead weight of her in my arms was the most terrifying thing I had ever felt. It was not the weight of a body, but the weight of a soul that had been pushed past its breaking point. I caught her as she collapsed, pulling her limp form against my chest, her head lolling against my shoulder. For a single, frozen moment in the wreckage of my study, the world fell away. There was no chaos, no dead men on the floor, no ghost of my brother. There was only Isabella, unconscious in my arms, and the profound, gut-wrenching understanding of the true extent of Cassian’s attack. He hadn't left a scratch on her porcelain skin. He hadn't needed to. His weapon had been his words, his poison our shared face. He had inflicted a wound far deeper and more insidious than any bullet could. A wound of the mind. A cold, terrifying fury rose within me, so potent it was almost clarifying. It burned away the last vestiges of my shock and left in its place a purpose as hard and sha

(Isabella’s POV) The walk from the guest suite to the study was the longest of my life. It was not a walk of a captive being led, but of a soldier marching toward the front lines. Alessandro stayed at my side, a silent, solid presence. His hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a gesture that was no longer about possession, but about support. A steady anchor in the churning sea of my fear. The penthouse had been transformed. The quiet, museum-like stillness was gone, replaced by the low hum of a fortress on high alert. Guards were posted at every junction, their dark suits a stark contrast to the pale marble. They were armed, their gazes constantly sweeping, but when their eyes met mine, I saw not suspicion, but a new, grudging respect. Alessandro’s acceptance of me had shifted my status in this dangerous ecosystem. I was no longer just the dove in the cage. I was the Don’s partner. When we entered the study, the transformation was even more profound. My easel, with the

(Isabella’s POV) The following day passed in a blur of tense, focused energy. The penthouse, once a silent, lonely space, was now a humming nerve center. Analysts I had never seen before worked silently at computer terminals set up in the living room, their faces illuminated by the glow of cascading data. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and the low murmur of hushed, strategic conversations. And at the heart of it all was the study, my quiet sanctuary, now our shared war room. Alessandro had given me everything I needed. An entire team of forensic accountants was at my disposal, ready to investigate any anomaly I found in the ledgers. But the work was slow, meticulous. It was like learning a language only two dead men had spoken. My father’s shorthand and Antonio De Luca’s marginalia were a complex tapestry of secrets, and I felt the immense pressure of time with every beat of my heart. Tonight, Alessandro was walking into a trap, and I was terrified that I wouldn't fi

(Isabella’s POV) The silence on the other end of the line was a roaring abyss. For a terrifying second after the words left my mouth, I thought the call had dropped. All I could hear was the frantic thumping of my own heart, the distant sound of shouting, and a sharp wind whistling in the background. “Alessandro?” I whispered, my knuckles white as I gripped the burner phone. “Are you there?” “I’m here,” his voice finally came, and the sound was so strained, so full of a pain that went beyond the physical, that it stole the breath from my lungs. “Isabella… say that again.” “The signature,” I repeated, my voice shaking as I stared at the document on the table, my father’s familiar, elegant script a damning piece of evidence. “It’s my father’s. He was the one who authorized the stock transfer from Bianchi’s company.” Another long pause. I heard him take a ragged breath. “Cassian… he knew,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. “His last words to me were a taunt… about your