The Widow’s Blood Debt의 모든 챕터: 챕터 21 - 챕터 30

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEPOV: Julian VaneThe library was a tomb of silence, the air thick with the scent of old leather and the cold metallic tang of the safe built into the mahogany wall. I stood before it, my heart a frantic, trapped thing in my chest.My birthdate.The numbers felt like a betrayal as I punched them in. 0-6-1-2.The electronic lock gave a soft, yielding click, and the heavy door swung open. Inside weren't just stacks of cash or gold bullion. There were hard drives, ledgers, and a single, weathered envelope with my name on it in Dante’s aggressive scrawl.I ignored the envelope for a second, my hands moving to the primary server drive. This was what Agent Vance wanted. This was the "immortality" Dante had spoken of: the digital blueprint of every bribe, every route, and every kill. If I handed this over, Dante Moretti would cease to exist. He would be a ghost in a federal jumpsuit.But as I reached for it, my auditor’s mind, the part of me that saw the patterns no one els

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEPOV: Dante MorettiThe boardroom on the 50th floor of the Moretti Plaza didn't smell of gunpowder or damp basements. It smelled of expensive espresso, Italian leather, and the clinical scent of freshly printed contracts. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city was waking up, a sprawling grid of millions who had no idea that their world had been quietly reconfigured while they slept.I watched Julian from the head of the table. He was standing by the glass, a tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. He wore a slate-grey suit that screamed of corporate power, but the way he moved, balanced, alert, eyes constantly scanning the perimeter, belonged to a soldier."The merger is complete," Julian said, his voice echoing in the sterile room. He didn't look back at me, but I saw his reflection in the glass. "Vane Logistics and Moretti Holdings are officially a single entity. On paper, we are the largest shipping and infrastructure conglomerate on t

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEPOV: Julian Vane-MorettiThe air in the private study of the Moretti estate was an entity unto itself, heavy, cold, and redolent with the scent of aged mahogany and the metallic tang of a city struggling through an industrial winter. I sat behind the massive desk, a fortress of dark wood that felt more like an altar than a piece of furniture. A single green-shaded banker’s lamp cast a pool of sickly emerald light across the surface, leaving the rest of the room to the mercy of the encroaching shadows.Before me lay the "Vane Archive."These weren't just boxes; they were the hollowed-out remains of my father’s life. After the siege of the North End, Dante’s men had hauled these crates out of the wreckage like grave robbers. For weeks, they had sat in the corner of my mind, a looming threat of secrets I wasn't sure I wanted to possess. But tonight, the silence of the house had become too loud, and the weight of my husband’s gaze, filled with a growing, terrifying ten

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENPOV: Julian VaneThe "Blue Velvet" was a lounge that time had forgotten. Tucked away in a corner of the city where the neon lights were mostly broken, it was the kind of place where men with heavy accents and heavier coats came to trade secrets they couldn't take to the grave.I sat in a booth at the back, the red leather cracked and smelling of stale tobacco. I wasn't wearing my charcoal power suit. I was dressed in an old leather jacket and a hoodie, looking like a man who had lost his fortune and was desperate to find a way back in.I checked my watch. 3:00 AM.The door opened, letting in a gust of freezing rain and a man who looked like he was made of jagged edges. He was Mediterranean, his skin darkened by a sun that didn't shine in this city, and he carried himself with the quiet, terrifying stillness of a professional killer.This was Elias Thorne, the primary fixer for the Malta Syndicate.He slid into the booth across from me. He didn't order a drink. He

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINEPOV: Julian VaneThe funeral for Vincenzo Moretti was a monochrome affair of black umbrellas and whispered lies. It was held at the private Moretti mausoleum, a marble structure that looked more like a fortress than a tomb. Rain fell in a persistent, cold drizzle, washing the soot of the shipyard from the city’s skin, but it couldn't wash away the heavy, suffocating weight of the Moretti legacy.Dante stood at the head of the casket, his face a mask of stone. He hadn't shed a tear. He had spent the last forty-eight hours purging the last of the "Old Guard" the Capos who had looked at Vincenzo with longing and at me with contempt. They were gone now, vanished into the "retirement" Dante had fashioned for them.I stood beside him, my hand tucked into the crook of his arm. I wore a black veil, not for mourning, but for the privacy it afforded. Beneath the lace, my eyes were scanning the crowd. I wasn't looking for grief; I was looking for the future.When the last of