جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 40

The silence in the East wing had grown larger that I had expected.I didn’t like that.It had been four nights since Bane had barged into my room.I couldn’t get that memory out of my head.Why did I kiss back?Why didn’t I push him away?What was happening to me?I wished that Nathaniel was at least around for me to talk to. It was always easy to have a conversation with him.I had stayed in my room, staring at the door, waiting for a letter that never came. The "Ghost" had vanished.I wondered if he had grown tired of me already.I sat by the window, my Novel open to a random page. I wasn't reading . I was letting my mind wander to all the places that I couldn’t reach."You look like a Victorian painting, Amaya. All tragic longing and pale."I turned to see Regina leaning against the doorframe. She looked as impeccable as ever.She walked in without waiting for an invitation, pouring herself a glass of water from the carafe."I’m just tired," I said, trying to keep my voice stead

I had a spring in my step as I made my way down the hallway that led to Bane’s office. Usually there was a crushing weight of dread that usually accompanied my walk there but today, that dread had shifted. For the first time, I was happy? Could you believe that? Me? Amaya Vancouver? Glorified prisoner of the Valak head, happy to see Bane Valak of all people? Who would have seen that coming? I pushed open the heavy oak doors without waiting for a guard’s permission. I don’t think they were even willing to deal with anymore of my shenanigans. Bane was seated behind his desk, the glow of the desk lamp casting sharp, geometric shadows across his face. He didn't look up as I entered. He was signing papers with a fountain pen, the scratching of the nib the only sound in the room. When he did look up he let out a small, exhausted sigh. Like a tired parent coming face to face with their hyperactive toddler. "I don't recall inviting you back, Amaya," he said, his voice as

I sat behind my large desk in Sicily and stared at the grainy, long-lens photograph spread across the wooden table. In all my life, I have never felt more shocked, insulted and infuriated. In the photo, the sun was setting over a private stretch of white sand. A woman stood there, her jet black hair unmistakable even from a distance. She wasn't a corpse in a ditch. She wasn't charred remains in the ruins of Raul’s estate. My daughter, Amaya Vancouver. She was alive. And she was smiling at Bane Valak. "I thought she was dead," I said quietly, my voice a jagged rasp in the quiet room. "I mourned her. I burned a goddamn empty casket for her so the papers would stop hounding me, and all this time, she’s been playing house with this bastard?" Martin, my captain a man whose loyalty was more about lack of options than actual devotion shifted uncomfortably in the shadows. "The intel is solid, Don Victor. He’s been keeping her in the East wing of the Rome estate for months. Thes

The air in Sicily was too sweet. It tasted of citrus and I inhaled it deeply while my mind ran in different directions. I sat in the back of the black sedan as it wound through the mountain passes, the folded photograph of Amaya Vancouver neatly in my breast pocket.Her father, Victor Vancouver, unfortunately for her was a pathetic creature. A man who had once commanded legions, now reduced to selling his daughter’s life in a damp basement. He talked about "currency" and "legacy," but all I saw was a coward trying to hide behind my shadow while I handled the dirty work he was too afraid to."He’s desperate,Don Roman," my driver, Elias, said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. Elias had been with me since before the exile. He was the only one who knew where the bodies were buried—mostly because he’d helped dig the holes. He was also the only person that still referred to me as a DON even if I no longer officially held that position.Regardless, I was still a feared man."A de

The rain in Rome was persistent. I sat in the back of my moving SUV and I was far from being at peace: My phone had buzzed three hours ago as I received a frantic, garbled report from a perimeter scout. One of my secondary hubs, a quiet warehouse near the docks that handled "the clean-up" logistics, had been attacked. "Give me the status again," I said. Nathaniel sat opposite me, his face illuminated by the blue glow of a tablet. He looked paler than usual. "Total blackout, Uncle. The internal security feed was cut at 02:00. The external sensors were looped. It was a professional job.” “How so?” “Well, they used high-frequency jammers, silenced entries. We didn't even get a distress signal until someone reported 'unusual silence' from the docks." "Professional," I repeated. "That warehouse was staffed by twelve veteran hitters. How did these people manage 'loop' their sensors without my men noticing." "Whoever did this knew exactly where the blind spots were,"