Alle Kapitel von Master of Her Sins: Kapitel 11 – Kapitel 20

BelaTHE AIR on the rooftop terrace was crisper at night, stripped of the heavy, suffocating humidity that plagued the Milanese streets below.Up here, surrounded by the meticulously manicured hedges and stone planters of Sebastian’s private garden, I could almost pretend the world was empty.I leaned my forearms against the cold marble balustrade, tilting my head back to look at the stars. They were faint, nearly drowned out by the sprawling, electric glow of the city, but they were there.For three years, those stars had been my only constant.Three years.To the rest of the world, Belarina Dela Costa had ceased to exist in a violent, terrifying inferno that consumed her family’s legacy. I still remembered the blinding heat of that night, the roar of the explosion, and the sheer, paralyzing terror that had driven me to run rather than look back.When the smoke cleared, the syndicate had

BelaTHE SCENT of chlorine and wet stone usually cleared my head, but today the rooftop pool area felt like another interrogation room.I stood by the edge of the deep blue water, the midday heat doing nothing to melt the chill that had settled deep inside my bones since last night. My body still ached with the memory of Sebastian’s touch, a reminder of how easily he could shatter my defenses when fear and adrenaline stripped away my armor.He would have executed them right there on the tiles, I thought, my gaze fixing on the ripples in the blue water. If I hadn't been standing in the crossfire, he wouldn't have just stopped them. He would have erased them from existence.The image of his arrival was burned into the back of my eyelids. I had fought off those men with everything I had—broken stone, elbows, raw survival instinct.But the moment Sebastian stepped out onto that terrace, the atmosphere didn't just shift—it shattered.It wasn't the calm, calculated Don who had pulled that t

BelaTHE PENTHOUSE was a prison made of glass and polished marble, but the guest bedroom’s walk-in closet was the one place where the air felt still.I spent the late afternoon organizing the clothes Sebastian had provided—stiff silk blouses, tailored trousers, and soft cashmere knits.It was a golden cage, impeccably tailored to keep me visible, managed, and controlled. But behind a row of heavy winter coats, near the back of a cedar drawer that looked as though it hadn't been fully cleared out since the penthouse was built, my fingers caught on something cold and metallic.I pulled my hand back, frowning.Reaching deeper into the dark corner, my fingertips brushed against a small, velvet-lined wooden box. It was unadorned, the lacquer chipped at the edges.My chest tightened with a sudden, unexplainable prickle of dread as I lifted it into the dim closet light.I opened the latch.Inside lay a delicate gold chain, its tiny links catching the light like spun thread. Suspended from the

SebTHE LEATHER interior of the Bentley smelled of old smoke and rain.Rain had been falling over Milan since midnight, turning the asphalt into slick, oil-slicked glass that mirrored the neon hum of the city’s financial district.I sat in the back, my laptop open across my knees, its blue light throwing sharp angles over the interior trim. Opposite me, Marcus—my chief lieutenant and the only man alive who knew how close I had come to losing my mind over the last three years—was silently reviewing a stack of encrypted traffic reports.The vehicle slowed as we reached the perimeter of the Moretti estate’s private lane.Marcus’s phone buzzed once. He answered it on the second ring, speaking in low, clipped monosyllables that barely carried over the hum of the engine.I didn't look up from my screen, but my fingers froze over the keyboard.When Marcus ended the call, he didn't immediately speak. He took a slow breath, adjusting his dark tie.“Report,” I said flatly.“It’s coming from the

BelaI was a prisoner again.I stood in the center of the room, my heart beating fast against my ribs. Outside, the sky over Milan was dark and gray, heavy with rain that refused to fall. Down in the courtyard below, the quiet routine of the penthouse had completely shattered.I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the balcony. I didn't open them—the guards had already locked the handles from the outside—but I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and looked down into the driveway.Four black SUVs rolled through the main gate in a tight, professional formation. Armed men in sharp suits stepped out first, their hands resting close to the holsters under their jackets. They lined up along the stone steps like stone statues, creating a safe path toward the grand entrance.Then, the door of the center sedan opened.A woman stepped out onto the damp pavement. Even from the top floor, she was impossible to miss. She wore a tailored crimson coat and high heels that