جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 87

A sudden wave of heat surged from my stomach, tightening my throat.I leaned against the heavy oak frame of the hallway, swallowing down the bitter, dry sickness.Four weeks along, and the morning fatigue was hitting like a physical weight.I smoothed the front of my black knit dress, forcing my breathing to even out.My fingers tightened around the leather folder clutched to my ribs.Inside were the encrypted Cyprus logs linking Capo Moretti directly to my father's theft.The heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the grand staircase below as the family’s Capos began to arrive.I ignored them, walking straight toward Roman's private study.I didn't knock.I pushed the double mahogany doors open and stepped into the room, locking them behind me with a sharp click.Roman stood by his sideboard, adjusting the silver buttons of his vest.His distinct cedarwood scent filled the air, heavy and sharp.He looked up, his gunmetal eyes narrowing as they locked onto me."The Capos are arriving,

The heavy, leather-scented air of the library did nothing to soothe my churning stomach.I pressed my cold palm flat against my lower abdomen, swallowing hard to force down a sudden wave of morning sickness.Four weeks of pregnancy was a brutal, invisible anchor dragging at my muscles.I kept my eyes fixed on the illuminated terminal screen, my fingers scrolling through the East Gate security logs.Roman's doubled guard detail was a solid wall of steel blocking the perimeter.If Rocco tried to move the Stamford assets through that gate, they would cut him down before he cleared the gravel.A sharp, metallic click echoed from the doorway.The steady, rhythmic tap of a silver-topped cane broke the silence of the room.I didn't slam the terminal shut.Instead, I slowly minimized the gate schematics and pulled up a benign financial ledger, keeping my shoulders perfectly relaxed."It is past midnight, Mrs. Falcone," Dante Ricci said, his smooth, cold voice drifting from the shadows of the

The heavy scent of leather and gun oil hung thick in the air of the master study.I stood before Roman's massive mahogany desk, my fingers tracing the cold gold trim of my tablet.A sudden, sharp wave of morning sickness hit my throat, but I swallowed it down, forcing my chest to remain perfectly still.Roman stood by his leather sideboard, loading a silver magazine into his heavy Colt.His unbuttoned silver vest showed the clean, unscarred skin of his chest, the cedarwood scent radiating from him in heavy waves."Dante has finalized the transition protocols," Roman said, his voice a gravelly low rasp.He tossed a thick, linen-bound folder onto the polished desk.The embossed gold seal of the Falcone syndicate glinted under the dim amber light."That is the official legal transfer of the Baltimore Port logistics authority," Roman continued, locking the slide of his weapon with a sharp, metallic clack."Every clearance code, routing manifest, and security grid in the southern sector is

The heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the far end of the grand corridor, accompanied by the cold, mechanical hum of the automated security shutters.Red warning lights pulsed against the ceiling, casting a bloody glow over my bedroom.Rocco stood near the wardrobe, his hand locked onto the grip of his holstered Colt, his chest rising and falling in a rapid, heavy rhythm."The thermal grid is at maximum sensitivity," Rocco whispered, his jaw tensing as his radio crackled with static."If I move through the hidden shafts now, the thermal sensors in the corridor walls will flag my mass instantly.""Go," I commanded, my voice flat and devoid of tremor. "Use the secondary ventilation line where the old steam pipes run—the heat will mask your signature."Rocco nodded quickly, slipping through the secret wardrobe panel just as the heavy brass latch of my bedroom door rattled violently.I scrambled toward the vanity, my heart rate spiking as I knelt on the rug.My fingers pried the loose