Portal To Nova Roma Novels & Stories

Amara stood in the center of the war room, one hand in the back of the chair, eyes locked on the digital map glowing red and gold on the screen. Silva tapped twice, bringing up satellite footage of a crumbling estate on the outskirts of Mondello. “This is where Romano is hiding,” Silva said. “Old monastery. Abandoned for decades. Renovated underground. My team's confirmed it's not just a bunker — it's a control center.” Amara’s eyes narrowed. “How many men?’ “At least fifty. Maybe more. Armed. Trained. And fully loyal.” “Who's inside with him?” Silva hesitated. “We confirmed four capos from the old Rome alliance. He's rebuilding an empire behind your back.”

Nova’s fingers curled tighter around the journal. Later that night, the house was quiet. The kind of calm that hums with tension just beneath the surface. Nova sat cross-legged on the rug in Damian’s office, the journal now open in her lap. Pages lay scattered around her, some handwritten in English, others in rough Romanian, Damian translated. Between the faded ink and cryptic references, it read like a war map disguised as a memoir. Damian stood over a desk by the window, speaking low into a secure burner phone in Romanian. His voice was taut. Sharp.

Neither of them answered me immediately. I pushed away from the cabinet and walked over to the desk. The tablet displayed a document that looked very old in design and very new in delivery. The Romano Foundation crest sat at the top, but it wasn’t the modern version I had seen at their galas or on their stationery. This one was narrower, the crest more elaborate, with a thin line beneath the Foundation name and a series of codes running along the left margin. Luca opened the attachment. A certificate. Cream background. Digital gold seal. Serial number.

She crossed out two names in red. Her voice was low. “Pack. We move in six hours.” “Where?” Mariano asked. “Rome,” she replied. “The Vatican needs a reckoning.” “But Roberto—” She met his eyes. “We will take his ashes with us. If the traitor’s lead is right, the next vault is under St. Agostino. Operazione Rosalina’s final root is there.” Mariano gave a slight nod. He didn’t need to argue.

" Have you slept with Mark before ?" " No. We only kissed." "When?" "Before you. Please don't turn to alcohol and drugs when things are bothering you. " " You aren't mad at me?" "No I am chilled we've been through hell and back together ." "Any guys I should know about?" " Jealousy makes you nasty." " Not where you are concerned ." "Romano who is my new client." I looked at Cleo inquisitively " What's Romano's surname?" "Luca. He does similar stuff that you guys do at Massa with shipping. Speaking of which ; I am headed to Richards Bay tomorrow, I should be back Saturday evening ."

He was an old friend, someone I had saved from a very messy situation years ago. He answered almost immediately. “Stefano,” Tommaso said warmly. “Long time no see.” “Hey, Tommaso,” I said, “how’s it going?” “Great, man. What’s up?” “Tommaso, I need a favor,” I said, cutting to the chase. “No small talk.” There was no hesitation. “You know I’m yours. Name it.” “My wife is staying at one of your properties in Porta Romana. The Grand Visconti Palace,” I said, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. “We’re… having a difficult time. I need her room number. She’s likely under the name Elena Castellano.”

In an instant, everyone scattered like prey but Luca remained staring at me and then he placed a thick folder on my desk. “This arrived this morning.” He said. “I’m not in the mood for surprises.” I snapped feeling total uninterested in whatever was in front of me. “You might have to want to see this.” He urged. I leaned forward and opened the folder lazily and just then my jaw tightened. Naples Port Expansion. Shipping access. Financial cushioning. Media alignment. Everything I needed to recover in half the time. But sighed—- Giovanni Russo. In second, I shut the folder slowly. “Why is this here?”

The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the faint smell of the flowers outside, the window was open slightly, letting in the distant sounds of Sicily waking up. Suddenly, my secure phone, the one I use for discreetly untraceable calls, vibrated on my desk. I picked it up, my brow furrowing at the unfamiliar number. Only a handful of people had this line, but I already knew who it was even before I answered. There was only one person capable of getting a hold of this new, highly guarded number so quickly. "Who is this," I said, my voice neutral. "Don Romano," Pyotr Novikov's voice purred through the line. It was smooth, almost silken, but with an underlying current of cold steel. "A

“This is getting me no closer to Leo” “Looks like he has finished writing” I point out and Nova goes back in to get the notepad from Petrof. As she picks it up from the desk, Petrof speaks to her “I know you have no reason to trust me or to help me, or to believe I would help you, but I want to find Margot so if you need anything from me for this, I will help.” “I have one last question” Nova says stopping by the door. “Did you really think I was going to set fire to you?”

Rose’s eyes widened in awe at the sleek, grand airport. "This place is gorgeous," she said admiringly. “You’ve never been here before?” “No.” There was excitement in her voice now. Even though she’d been ignoring Matteo earlier, her frosty attitude began to thaw. “So, where exactly are we going?” she asked. Matteo blinked. “We landed at Venice Marco Polo, Romilda.” “Oh.” Rose looked thoughtful. "I have no idea where that is." "It's in Venice, Romilda," Matteo said, struggling not to laugh. "Italy."