Alle Kapitel von The Mafia's Forced Bride: Kapitel 41 – Kapitel 45

( Aria's Point of View )Dawn breaks differently when you know someone you love is counting on you to save them.I stood in the Villa Moretti armory at five AM, watching Viktor's team prepare weapons and equipment with the kind of practiced efficiency that came from years of doing terrible things for what they hoped were good reasons. Mikhail was checking ammunition counts. Two of Viktor's operators were calibrating communication equipment. And Dante sat in the corner, struggling to put on tactical gear with his still-healing shoulder."You're not coming," I said for the third time."We've been over this," Dante replied for the third time. "Where you go, I go.""Your shoulder...""Is fine," Dante interrupted, wincing as he tried to tighten a strap. "Mostly fine. Fine enough.""You can barely lift your arm above your head," I pointed out."Then it's good I shoot with my right hand," Dante countered.Viktor appeared in the doorway, holding a tablet. "Reconnaissance is complete. We have

(Aria's Point of View)There's a particular cruelty in having to say goodbye to someone twice. Once when they leave, and once when you finally accept they're not coming back.Elena leaves tomorrow at dawn.That fact sits in my chest like a stone as I stand outside her door at half past nine in the evening, holding a mug of chamomile tea I made myself because Sofia offered and I needed something to do with my hands. Through the door, I can hear the television murmuring. Some cooking show, low volume. Elena always put cooking shows on when she couldn't sleep. The sound of cheerful, uncomplicated problems. whether the soufflé will rise, whether the sauce will reduce. Was apparently her preferred antidote to the darker thoughts.I used to tease her about it relentlessly.I knock softly. "It's me."A pause. Then: "Come in."She's sitting up in bed, the blankets pooled around her waist, the television casting warm flickering light across her face. The bruising around her wrists is visible e

(Aria's Point of View)Grief, I've learned, doesn't come politely. It doesn't wait for a convenient moment, doesn't schedule itself around wars and Tribunal threats and the ongoing business of survival. It finds the cracks in your armor and seeps in sideways, usually when you're doing something completely unrelated to the thing you're grieving.It hits me at eleven-seventeen in the morning, while I'm eating a bowl of soup I don't remember asking for.One moment I'm reviewing surveillance data on the Tribunal's media assets, tracking the bot network Isabella flagged yesterday, following the digital breadcrumbs through seventeen shell accounts back toward what I'm fairly certain is a coordinated server farm operating out of Eastern Europe. The next moment I pick up my phone to text Elena something stupid. A meme, of all things, something Alexei showed me that morning that she would have found genuinely hilarious. And I get as far as opening our conversation thread before I remember.No