บททั้งหมดของ The king of Ashes : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

(Isabella’s POV) I needed a break. My mind was a tangled knot of conspiracies, my father’s ghosts, and the ever-present shadow of a man who wore Alessandro’s face. The weight of it all was suffocating. For just a moment, I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to pretend my life was simple, that I had everything under control, that my husband’s psychopathic twin wasn't actively plotting to destroy us, and that my world wasn't steeped in the blood and secrets of the mafia. Oh, God. I just needed to breathe. I walked through the silent, fortified penthouse looking for Alessandro. The sprawling space, once so intimidating, now just felt lonely without him. I found him in the study, exactly where I knew he would be, bent over the same brittle ledger we had been analyzing for days, his focus so absolute he was a world away. “Alessandro,” I called softly. He didn't hear me, his eyes still tracing the lines of faded ink. A sudden, sharp frustration pierced through my exhaustion. I had

(Isabella’s POV) I woke slowly, cocooned in a cloud of soft linen and a scent that was uniquely Alessandro sandalwood, expensive cologne, and a faint, masculine musk. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting golden stripes across the bed. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I woke not with a jolt of anxiety, but with a deep, bone-deep sense of peace. I stretched, a lazy, contented movement, and a dull ache in my thighs and a tenderness between my legs served as a delicious reminder of the previous night. A smile touched my lips as I glanced down at my body. My skin was a canvas of his possession, adorned with faint, purplish marks on my neck, collarbone, and the soft skin of my inner thighs. Far from feeling shame, I felt a swell of pride. These were not marks of violence; they were the beautiful, raw imprints of a king’s surrender, of a man’s desperate, all-consuming love. But the space beside me was empty. The sheets were cool. A flicke

(Isabella’s POV) "What the fuck, Alessandro? Why did you do that?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm, a stark contrast to the raging inferno inside me, and the unfinished orgasm had left me with an aching need that left my legs almost too weak to hold me up. I was frustrated, annoyed, and deeply vengeful because he had stripped me of my pleasure as a lesson, and in doing so, had unleashed a part of me I didn’t know existed. The smug, infuriatingly handsome smile on his lips only worsened the throbbing heat between my legs, and I wanted him in more ways than one, but most importantly, I wanted him immediately and on my terms. "What did I say, mia regina?" he whispered, his molten gold eyes flickering between mine, and his voice was low, smooth, and utterly infuriating. "I don’t like it when you cuss." I raised a brow, taken aback by his absurd justification, and I realized that was his only problem, my cussing, but I knew it was time to show him I could do a lot more than jus

(Alessandro’s POV) I woke to the soft light of dawn filtering into the bedroom. For the first time in a decade, the familiar emptiness of my bed was gone, replaced by the warm, living presence of Isabella. She was asleep, her back curled against my side, her breathing a soft, steady rhythm that felt like the only point of peace in a world at war. I watched her for a long moment, a new, terrifying level of protectiveness coiling in my gut. My life had once been a straightforward path of vengeance. Now, it was a fight for a future I hadn't known I wanted until she'd shown it to me. The memory of the previous night was a raw, vivid brand on my mind the fury, the fear, the desperate, almost violent passion that had followed. Our fight had been a brutal, necessary storm. It had cleared the air, exposing the raw terror that fueled my protective instincts and the fierce, unyielding strength that defined her spirit. I had almost let my fear crush the very thing I admired most in her.

(Alessandro’s POV) The ride back to the Citadel was a silent, grim affair. The victory at the club was a cold, clinical thing, a necessary step on a bloody path. We had the snake. Now, it was time to descend into the darkness and charm it into singing. I bypassed the private elevator to my penthouse, heading instead for the secure entrance that led to the Citadel’s heart and its dungeons. But before the interrogation could begin, there was one thing I had to do. I took a separate elevator up, the quiet ascent a journey between the two halves of my world: the brutal reality of my business and the fragile sanctuary I had found with Isabella. She was waiting for me in the study, a lone figure surrounded by the ghosts of our fathers’ ledgers. The moment I entered, she was on her feet, her eyes searching my face, my body, for any sign of injury or failure. “It’s done,” I said, closing the distance between us. “He’s here. We were ghosts. No one saw a thing.” She let out a breath