บททั้งหมดของ BLOOD TIE AND BROKEN VOWS : บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

The city woke not to dawn but to gunfire.It started in the docks, where the Moretti’s shipments clashed with Rossi smugglers. By the time the sun had dragged itself above the horizon, blood was already painting the cobblestones.Adriana stood at the window of the loft, watching smoke coil upward in the distance. The scent of ash carried on the wind, bitter and metallic, the taste of war. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, though the chill that gripped her bones wasn’t from the cold.Behind her, Damian was strapping on his shoulder holster, his face a mask of grim purpose. The wolf in him was prowling, restless, hungry for vengeance.“It’s begun,” Adriana whispered.“It was always going to,” Damian said, sliding the pistol into its place. His voice was steel wrapped in smoke. “The Council wants blood. Isabella wants control. And the streets…” He glanced at her, eyes dark as thunderclouds. “The streets will drown in it.”By midday, the chaos had spread across three districts.

The safehouse walls trembled with the weight of war. Maps sprawled across the wooden table, dotted with red markers where Damian’s men had fallen, where the streets still reeked of gasoline and blood.But Damian wasn’t studying the maps anymore. He was staring at Adriana.Something about her eyes—too careful, too guarded—set off alarms deep in his chest. He had fought wars, slit throats in alleyways, worn crowns of ash, but nothing unnerved him like the thought that the woman he had risked everything for was keeping secrets.“Where were you last night?” he asked again, this time with the low growl that betrayed his control slipping.Adriana swallowed, her fingers curling into her cloak. “I told you, Damian. I went out for air. I needed space.”He leaned forward, his palms slamming flat on the table, rattling glasses and making his men flinch. “Space? When the streets were running with Rossi blood? When assassins could’ve slit your throat?” His jaw clenched, his voice a snarl. “Don’t l

The Moretti estate was quieter than usual, the halls stretched with tension as if the very stones were holding their breath. Men stood straighter, eyes darting, hands never far from their weapons. Something poisonous had been festering inside their ranks for weeks—rumors of betrayal, missing shipments, ambushes that seemed too precise to be coincidence.Damian had ignored it at first, convinced it was simply the cost of war. But after the last strike—when half a dozen of his soldiers were butchered in a Rossi trap—he knew.There was a spy.And tonight, he would find them.The war council chamber was dim, lit only by a single chandelier and the dying fire in the hearth. Adriana stood at Damian’s side, her defiance from the night before still burning in her chest. She wasn’t here to be a decoration. She was here because this war was hers, too.Damian’s lieutenants entered one by one—Lorenzo, Carlo, Matteo, Rocco—each bearing scars of loyalty carved into their flesh. And yet, one of them

The morning air carried no mercy. Bells tolled through the city, not for the dead but for judgment.Adriana stood in the safehouse window, her palm still wrapped where she had cut it for the blood pact. The wound throbbed, a reminder of the choice she had made.Rocco stormed in, face grim. “They’ve called it. The Council demands your presence. They say the blood pact proves nothing—except that Damian has blinded himself with a woman.”Her chest tightened. “So, this is Isabella’s doing.”Damian entered behind him, eyes burning, suit dark as midnight. He didn’t deny it. “She’s poisoned the council. And now they want to put you on trial as the traitor in our ranks.”Adriana met his gaze. “Then let them.”The wolf in him growled, but her defiance struck something deeper in him—respect. And fear.The council chamber was carved from black stone, its long table surrounded by ancient portraits of past dons. Candles burned low, filling the room with a choking haze of smoke and secrecy.Adriana

The black Mercedes roared down the winding mountain road, tires skidding as Damian pushed it to its limits. Adriana sat in the passenger seat, her wrists still raw from the ropes, her gown streaked with soot and blood that wasn’t hers.The flames of the council’s chamber seemed etched into her eyes, and no matter how fast they drove, she could still hear the screams of dying men echoing in her skull.Her hands trembled in her lap, but she kept them hidden in the folds of her dress. Damian’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles bone-white on the wheel. He hadn’t spoken a word since dragging her out of that chamber.The silence between them was heavier than any chains.“Damian,” she whispered finally, her voice fragile.He didn’t look at her. “Not now.”Her throat tightened. She turned her gaze to the window, the city lights sprawling below them like scattered fireflies. But nothing looked beautiful anymore. Not after tonight.They stopped at an abandoned safehouse on the outskirts of Naples—