บททั้งหมดของ BLOOD TIE AND BROKEN VOWS : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

The city had grown quiet after the storm, but for the Moretti heir, silence was just the breath before violence.Damian Moretti was done bleeding. Tonight, others would.The underground garage was filled with the low rumble of engines, the smell of oil and gunpowder hanging thick in the air. Damian’s men assembled, black-clad and armed, faces grim under the flickering fluorescent lights.Marco leaned against a car, watching Damian pace like a caged predator. “You’re planning something big,” he said. “Something reckless.”Damian stopped, turning slowly, his eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Not reckless. Necessary. Rossi thinks he can cage her. Isabella thinks she can poison me. They’re wrong.” He raised his hand, the scarred knuckles catching the light. “Tonight, they’ll learn what happens when you take what’s mine.”The men shifted uneasily, but no one spoke. They could feel it in him — the shift. Damian wasn’t leading like a strategist anymore. He was leading like a storm.The Rossi

The Rossi estate was alive with whispers. Guards lined the halls, their boots clicking like metronomes of oppression. The windows had been barred, the gates reinforced, and every corner seemed to watch her. Adriana felt it in her bones — she was no longer a daughter. She was a prisoner.But she had learned something from Damian: cages were only temporary.Adriana sat by the mirror, staring at her reflection in the gilded glass. Dark circles framed her eyes, but beneath the exhaustion, something new glimmered — steel. Her father wanted obedience. Isabella wanted her broken. But she would give them neither.She rose, tugging the chain on her wrist until it rattled, a harsh defiance in the silent chamber. If they think I am weak, they will underestimate me. And if they underestimate me, I will have my chance.The door opened without warning — again. Isabella stepped inside, draped in crimson silk this time, her lips painted the same shade. She looked every bit the queen she longed to be,

The Rossi ballroom glittered with decadence. Chandeliers poured golden light over marble floors, and the air reeked of wealth, perfume, and deceit. The Rossis had staged another gathering under the guise of “unity,” but everyone present knew it was a show of dominance — a reminder that the Rossi name still commanded the city’s veins.At the center of it all stood Isabella. Dressed in silver silk that clung like liquid moonlight, she wore the mask of a queen. Damian’s queen — or so she let the world believe. Her hand rested possessively on his arm as she paraded him before the vultures in jewels and suits.But Damian was a storm disguised as a man. His jaw was rigid, his hand limp under Isabella’s touch. His eyes, cold and sharp, were not on her. They scanned the room, searching, hunting. Always restless. Always unsatisfied.And Adriana felt it from across the hall. She stood at the edge of the gathering, chained to her father’s side like an ornament. The distance between them ached li

The morning after the masquerade dawned heavy with unease. The Rossi estate was cloaked in a silence that felt less like peace and more like the eye of a storm. The velvet drapes muffled the sound of voices in the halls, and the golden chandeliers gleamed like sharpened swords in the dim light.Damian stood at the head of the long council table, his jaw locked, his expression cut from stone. Around him sat the patriarchs and heirs of the northern syndicates—wolves in tailored suits, eyes sharp with suspicion, greed, and fear. They had gathered not out of respect, but because power demanded it.And power had a price.“Last night,” Don Russo began, his voice a low growl, “your little display with Adriana Lombardi stirred whispers. Whispers of disloyalty. Of weakness. Of betrayal to the pact.”The name Lombardi spat from his lips like poison.Damian’s hand tightened into a fist beneath the polished mahogany table, but his face remained unreadable. He knew what they saw in him: a man too

The Moretti estate never slept, but tonight it thrummed with an energy that felt dangerous, electric. The council’s gathering had ended in applause and false smiles, but beneath the polished veneer, whispers spread like wildfire.Damian Moretti had chosen Isabella Romano.The announcement had been orchestrated perfectly, every detail carefully staged. To the world, it was a demonstration of unity, of loyalty. But for Adriana, it was a dagger to the heart. For Damian, it was shackles tightening around his throat. For Isabella, it was a crown she believed she had won.And like all crowns in their world, it was dipped in blood.Adriana paced her chamber, her gown pooling around her feet, her diamond cuffs clinking faintly with every step. Her hands trembled, but her fury burned hotter than her grief.They thought they had broken her. They thought making Damian stand beside Isabella would crush her into silence. But instead, it had ignited something else.Resolve.The door opened, and Enz