2025-10-02 23:40:32
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You were Warned!
CHAPTER 24Adrian isn't the type of person to dream.Sleep for him was another battlefield — dark, efficient, a place where plans were sharpened and ghosts whispered orders. That night he lay in the new apartment: reinforced door, steel bolts, motion grids that hummed faint like trapped insects. A pistol under the pillow. Cameras watching the street. He breathed slow, practiced, as if every inhale were counted, every exhale a debt.The city outside was a dull, distant thunder.Then the phone ripped the silence.Calvin’s voice came on the third ring, flat and cold. No hello. No preamble.“Turn on the news,” he said. “Now.”Adrian did it without flair. He lifted the remote, thumbed the channel, and watched his world unmake itself.BREAKING: STUDIO LEGALE VERO DESTROYED IN EXPLOSIVE FIRE — ENTIRE BUILDING LEVELED. NO SURVIVORS CONFIRMED.The footage was a living hell — a black mouth of flame eating glass and plaster, tongues of orange licking the sky. Firefighters one after another retrea
Tension between Father and Son
CHAPTER 24The world was still spinning around the trial of Enzo DeLuca and Riccardo Marchesi. Every café radio in Milan had it on repeat. Every headline screamed it. The city’s veins pulsed with arguments—half of them swearing that Enzo would walk free because money ruled everything, the other half betting that the state would finally bury the DeLucas for good. Talk shows roared. Lawyers sparred on live TV. Even the cab drivers cursed the case between cigarette drags.“Will Morgan win?”“Can Enzo and Marchesi buy another judge?”“Is this the end of the DeLuca empire?”The trial loomed like a storm on the horizon. The press called it Il Processo del Secolo — the Trial of the Century. And at its center stood Adrian Morgan—the undefeated, the untouchable, the ghost with a briefcase.◇◇◇◇◇It was dawn when he left Milan.No entourage. No escort. Just him, a black sedan, and the winding roads that cut through the Lombard hills toward the quiet countryside near Bergamo. Olive trees lined th
A real Contessa!
CHAPTER 22Some “people” hadn’t known peace in weeks.Contessa Alessandra DeLuca—the iron-blooded matriarch of Milan’s most feared family—paced the length of the grand corridor, heels striking marble like a ticking clock. Her silk robe flowed behind her, rich red like spilt wine, like sin itself. Servants rushed past, whispering nervously, trays trembling in their hands.“Where the hell is he?” she snapped. “Hasn’t anyone found out what the prosecutors are saying?”No one dared answer. The air was heavy with the scent of her fury. One servant stammered something about the latest headlines—the trial, the dead judge, the press calling it “the year the empire cracked.”Alessandra’s hand clenched around her cigarette holder. Smoke curled up like a curse.“The empire doesn’t crack,” she muttered coldly. “It burns whoever tries.”Then the doors opened. Matteo and Luca stepped in—both sharp in tailored suits, both carrying the careless arrogance that came from growing up untouchable.“Mother,
Irony of Love
CHAPTER 21Milan breathed slower those days. The city, still reeling from the judge’s death, seemed to linger in a suspended state of unease. News channels replayed the preliminary hearing in endless loops, highlighting Adrian Morgan’s dominance, his quiet, lethal authority. The death of the judge had shifted everything. The main trial, which was supposed to ignite immediately, was postponed for a month.Two powerful families were involved. The court needed time, or so the newspapers said, to appoint a new judge. But Adrian knew better. In the mafia world, judges weren’t just neutral arbiters—they were pieces, movable, bendable, sometimes corruptible. A new judge could mean a new threat or a fresh angle. Adrian spent his nights in shadowed offices and dimly lit archives, laying plans beneath plans, preparing contingencies in case the scales were tipped against him.He was a chess player, always thinking five moves ahead.◇◇◇◇◇Not all battles were fought in courtrooms or back alleys. S
Rotten system
CHAPTER 20The news didn’t sleep.By dawn, Milan was already choking on it.Televisions screamed from bar counters and café walls, radios buzzed in taxi dashboards, headlines ran across every kiosk:“JUDGE FOUND DEAD HOURS AFTER HISTORIC INDICTMENT.”“SUICIDE… OR MURDER?”“TRIAL OF THE CENTURY PLUNGED INTO CHAOS.”Commentators had their knives out.In the slums of Quarto Oggiaro, men spat at the ground, muttering curses. “They silenced him. You think a judge that strong just hangs himself?” An old woman crossed herself, whispering prayers over her rosary.In glittering bars on Via della Spiga, laughter spilled with champagne. “A dead judge? Please. That’s how the game is played.” Another voice, slick and cold, added: “They’ll get another. They always do. But tell me, whose pocket will he live in?”On the streets, in kitchens, in alleyways—Milan was divided. Some called it divine punishment. Some swore it was mafia blood cleaning its tracks. But nobody really knew. Nobody ever would.Wh
Ghost in the courtroom PART 6
CHAPTER 19The first words weren’t spoken in the courtroom. They came through the television.“Breaking news from Milan: the trial of the century is set to begin today. Two of Italy’s most untouchable men—Enzo DeLuca, heir to the infamous DeLuca family, and Senator Riccardo Marchesi, son of the industrial magnate—will face the preliminary hearing that could lead to a full indictment. And leading the prosecution… is the mysterious Adrian Morgan.”Across the city, screens flickered with the report.In the slums of Quarto Oggiaro, whole families gathered around battered televisions, static humming, children wide-eyed. Mothers held their babies tighter, fathers clenched their jaws. These were people who had been spat on by men like Enzo and Riccardo, who had seen their sons vanish, their daughters broken. Now, for once, the world might see their pain in the light.A woman whispered to no one, “Let him win. Dio mio… let him win.”In the bars of Via della Spiga, rich men and women sipped cha
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