2025-12-10 04:36:45The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the night, their shadows swallowing the narrow road that wound toward Marco’s hideout. Snow fell in thin, relentless sheets, turning the forest into a white graveyard. Every tree looked like a watching figure. Every shift of wind sounded like a warning.
But Lorenzo did not slow down. The black SUV growled beneath him as he pushed it harder, engine screaming against the climb. His hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white. He had driven for hours, but it felt like minutes—time had collapsed into a single thought: Isabella. Alive. Waiting for me. Terrified. Alone. His chest burned with every breath, as though his heart was fighting through ice and fire at once. Lucio’s voice crackled through the comms behind him. “Boss, we’re ten minutes behind you—don’t go in alone.” Lorenzo didn’t respond. A moment later: “Lorenzo, I swear—if you go in without backup—” He turned the radio off. There was no backup for what he intended to do. No plan. No strategy. Just rage. And love. A love fierce enough to drown the world. He drove until the road ended—until the trees narrowed and the first glimpse of the hunting lodge materialized through the blizzard. A black silhouette. A beast waiting in the snow. Lorenzo stepped out of the SUV. The cold didn’t touch him. Nothing could—not tonight. He loaded his weapon, chambered a round, and began the silent walk toward the lodge. Every step was a promise. I’m coming, Isabella. I will not fail you again. --- Isabella her body ached. Her wrists throbbed from the ropes. Her shoulders were numb. Her lips were cracked. Her throat felt like sandpaper. But her mind—her mind was awake, alive, burning. Because she knew he was close. She could feel it. The way the air shifted. The way Marco kept glancing out the window. The way a storm seemed to gather inside the room. Marco paced, gun in hand, smile carved across his face like a scar. “He’ll come,” Marco murmured. “He’s predictable like that.” Isabella lifted her head slowly. Her voice was raw. But sharp as a blade. “Predictable?” she whispered. “No, Marco… Lorenzo is inevitable.” Marco paused. She held his gaze—bloody, exhausted, but unbroken. “And when he comes,” Isabella said, “you’ll understand what it means to be hunted.” Marco slapped her—hard—splitting her lip. Isabella’s head snapped to the side. But she laughed. Marco froze. Her blood dripped onto the wooden floorboards as she whispered, “He’s already here.” --- Lorenzo reached the edge of the clearing. Four guards stood outside the lodge—smoking, laughing, stamping their feet against the cold. He didn’t stop walking. One guard saw him and frowned. “Hey, do you have ID or—” A single shot. The man collapsed into the snow. The other three scrambled—too slow. Lorenzo moved like a shadow through wind and violence. Three more shots. Three more bodies. Snow stained red. He didn’t break stride. He stepped over the bodies as casually as stepping over fallen branches. The lodge door stood ahead. Warm light spilling through the cracks. Silhouettes moving inside. He reached for the handle. And kicked the door open so hard it tore off its hinges. Gun raised. Heart burning. Eyes locked on the only thing that mattered. --- The moment the door exploded inward, Isabella’s heart nearly gave out. Lorenzo. Cold. Hardened. Deadly. A dark storm wrapped in flesh. His eyes went straight to her—ignoring everything else. And in that instant, everything inside her broke. The fear. The pain. The doubt. The cold. He was here. He found her. “Lorenzo…” she whispered, voice trembling with relief and disbelief. His jaw clenched. “I’m here, amore mio.” Marco raised his gun. Lorenzo fired first. The bullet grazed Marco’s cheek, slicing skin and sending him stumbling backward. Marco laughed—blood dripping down his face. “I knew you’d come,” he hissed. “You always come.” Lorenzo didn’t respond. His gun was already pointed at Marco’s chest. But Marco grabbed Isabella by the hair and pulled her in front of him like a shield. Lorenzo froze. Every muscle turned to stone. Marco pressed the gun to Isabella’s head. “Drop it, brother.” Lorenzo didn’t move. So Marco cocked the gun. “DROP IT!” The sound was deafening. Lorenzo lowered the weapon. It hit the floor. Marco smirked. “Good boy.” Isabella shook her head weakly. “Don’t. Lorenzo—don’t listen to him.” Marco tightened his grip, yanking her head back. “You shut up!” Lorenzo’s eyes darkened. Marco chuckled. “You love her, don’t you?” Lorenzo didn’t blink. Marco grinned wider. “Then you’re going to watch her die.” Isabella’s pulse raced. Lorenzo’s rage reached something animal. But he stayed still. Too still. Marco didn’t see it. But Isabella did. Lorenzo was waiting. Counting. Breathing. Watching. The way a predator watches wounded prey. Marco placed the barrel against Isabella’s jaw. “This ends tonight.” Lorenzo tilted his head. And whispered: “No, Marco. It ends now.” --- It happened fast. But not fast enough for Marco. Lorenzo kicked his gun upward with the speed of a serpent striking. Marco fired— The shot went into the ceiling. Isabella fell sideways against the floorboards. Lorenzo lunged. He tackled Marco into the wooden table, both men crashing into bottles and splintering wood. Marco swung wildly— Lorenzo dodged— Then slammed his fist into Marco’s jaw. Bone cracked. Marco spat blood. “STILL WEAK!” he roared. He grabbed a broken bottle and slashed at Lorenzo’s shoulder, tearing fabric and skin. Lorenzo didn’t even flinch. He grabbed Marco by the throat, lifted him, slammed him against the wall so hard the window shattered. They struggled. Marco drove his knee into Lorenzo’s ribs. Lorenzo drove his elbow into Marco’s nose—breaking it. Marco’s scream echoed through the lodge. Blood soaked the floor. The storm outside howled like it was mourning or celebrating. Isabella struggled to crawl forward, hands still tied. Marco saw her move. He snarled, reaching for a fallen gun. Lorenzo saw the motion. His heart stopped. Marco aimed at Isabella— Lorenzo roared. He dove in front of her. The gun fired. The bullet tore through Lorenzo’s side. He grunted—once, low—but he didn’t fall. He turned, eyes blazing with something no human should survive. He grabbed Marco with both hands— And threw him through the second window. Glass shattered. Snow exploded. Marco’s scream faded into the night. Silence. Then Isabella screamed: “LORENZO!” He fell to one knee, blood pooling beneath him. She crawled to him, hands trembling violently. “No—no—no, Lorenzo, look at me—stay with me, please—” He looked at her, eyes softening despite the pain. “I told you…” he whispered, touching her cheek with a trembling hand. “…I’d find you.” She sobbed. “You got shot—” “Just a scratch.” His voice cracked. “You’re what matters.” Footsteps sounded outside. Isabella’s heart lurched—panic crashing through her— But it wasn’t Marco. It was Lucio. And twenty De Luca soldiers storming the lodge. Lucio froze when he saw the blood. “Oh God—Lorenzo—” “Lucio,” Lorenzo grunted, “Marco’s still alive.” Lucio nodded, jaw clenched. “We’ll find him.” “Don’t kill him,” Lorenzo whispered. “Not yet.” Lucio understood instantly. This wasn’t finished. Not until Lorenzo ended it himself. He signaled the men. They scattered into the storm, hunting Marco through the darkness. But Isabella didn’t look away from Lorenzo. Her hands cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin. “You saved me,” she whispered, voice breaking. He smirked weakly. “I’ll always save you.” “You’re bleeding so much—” “I’ve had worse.” “No you haven’t!” He smiled. “Maybe.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t leave me.” His hand slid into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” --- Snow. Blood. Pain. Marco crawled across the frozen ground, leaving a crimson trail behind him. His breath came in shallow bursts, each one colder than the last. He looked back at the shattered lodge window. Laughed weakly. “You want a war, Lorenzo?” he rasped. “Then I’ll give you one.” He staggered into the trees. Toward the next trap. Toward the final plan. Toward the real devastation.
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THE LAST BROTHER
The snowstorm swallowed the world whole.Wind ripped through the trees with a feral scream, carrying the scent of blood—Lorenzo’s blood—across the mountains. The forest seemed alive, breathing in ragged gasps as if it knew death was moving through its heart.Marco ran.His vision blurred, his side drenched red, breath slicing through frost like broken glass. The cold gnawed at him, ate him alive, but he didn’t stop. Rage kept him upright. Hatred kept his pulse pumping.Love—twisted, poisoned, delusional—kept him fighting.“Lorenzo…” he growled into the storm. “Still playing hero. Still stealing what’s mine.”Branches whipped his face as he stumbled deeper into the dark.Behind him, distant shouts echoed through the trees.De Luca soldiers.Hunting him.But he wasn’t running from them.He was leading them.---Inside the LodgeLorenzo’s vision faded in and out like a dying bulb.The bullet had gone deep. Too deep.He leaned heavily against Isabella as Lucio wrapped a cloth around his w
THE HUNTING LODGE MASSACRE
The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the night, their shadows swallowing the narrow road that wound toward Marco’s hideout. Snow fell in thin, relentless sheets, turning the forest into a white graveyard. Every tree looked like a watching figure. Every shift of wind sounded like a warning.But Lorenzo did not slow down.The black SUV growled beneath him as he pushed it harder, engine screaming against the climb. His hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white. He had driven for hours, but it felt like minutes—time had collapsed into a single thought:Isabella.Alive.Waiting for me.Terrified.Alone.His chest burned with every breath, as though his heart was fighting through ice and fire at once.Lucio’s voice crackled through the comms behind him.“Boss, we’re ten minutes behind you—don’t go in alone.”Lorenzo didn’t respond.A moment later:“Lorenzo, I swear—if you go in without backup—”He turned the radio off.There was no backup for what he intended to do.No
WHEN BLOOD CALLS BLOOD
The sun had barely risen above the treeline when the De Luca mansion erupted into motion again. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, radios crackled with urgent static, and engines roared to life outside. The world was waking… but Lorenzo De Luca had not slept.He was still in the same clothes he had worn the night before, blood drying on his sleeves, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. But his mind was awake—sharper than ever. Every nerve, every instinct, every breath was anchored to one truth:Marco wasn’t finished.Marco never stopped.And Marco wanted Isabella.Lorenzo stepped out into the hall just as Lucio approached from the staircase, a folder tucked under his arm.“You’re up?” Lucio asked.“I never went to sleep.” Lorenzo’s voice was gravel—not tired, but dangerous.Lucio swallowed. “We got intel from one of the men you… questioned.”Lorenzo gave him a cold, silent look.Lucio quickly corrected himself. “Interrogated. Professionally.”Lorenzo’s jaw twitched. “Show me.”They w
THE WOLVES UNLEASHED
The sky was still bruised with the last traces of night when Lorenzo De Luca stepped into the courtyard, the cold morning air biting at his skin. Dozens of men stood before him—armed, silent, waiting. Engines idled in the background like hungry beasts ready to tear the city apart.Lorenzo’s presence was enough to quiet even the wind.He wore the same black shirt from the night before, though someone had stitched the torn sleeve. A dark coat rested on his shoulders, the collar turned up, casting a shadow across his jaw. He looked like a king stepping into battle… or a wolf who had already decided who would die by sunrise.Lucio approached him. “The teams are in position.”Lorenzo didn’t nod. He simply scanned the faces of his men—old soldiers, loyal guards, fighters trained from the shadows of his father’s empire. Every one of them would die for him. And all of them knew he might die today.“Marco wants a war?” Lorenzo said, voice steady, chilling, final.“Yes, boss,” Lucio answered.“
THE DEVIL’S DEBT
The mansion was wrapped in an eerie quiet, the kind that didn’t soothe but suffocated. Night had fallen hours ago, yet no one inside the walls dared to sleep. Every guard was awake. Every gun was loaded. Every light stayed on. Fear moved through the air like smoke, curling into corners and shadows.Isabella felt it most.She sat beside the window of the guest room Lorenzo had moved her into—a room closer to his office, closer to his guards, closer to him. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of the bruises on her wrists. They stung when she pressed them, but the pain reminded her she was alive.Alive… even though Marco wanted her dead.Or worse.Her breath wavered. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring at the moon outside. The forest beyond the mansion swayed with the wind, but in her mind, she heard footsteps… Marco’s footsteps. She heard the scrape of rope against wood. His chilling laugh. The whisper he left her with:“Lorenzo will bleed for this.”A shudder
Beneath the Roses
The storm had not yet passed when Lorenzo De Luca stood at the tall windows of his study, watching the dark sky twist above the city. The thunder rolled like an omen, echoing through the marble halls of the mansion. The air smelled of gunpowder and roses — the strange scent that always followed war.He turned away from the window when Isabella entered. She wore a pale blue dress, her hair damp from the rain, her eyes filled with questions she had learned not to ask.“Lorenzo,” she said softly, “you’ve been standing there for hours.”“I’m waiting for silence,” he replied, his voice low. “It’s the only thing I can trust these days.”She walked closer, her hand brushing his sleeve. “You can trust me.”He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s why I need you to leave.”Her breath caught. “Leave? What do you mean?”“You’ll go to the countryside. Matteo will escort you. You’ll stay there until I settle things with Marco.”Isabella’s lips parted in disbelief. “You can’t send m
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