The sun had barely risen over the Robinson estate, yet the household was already stirring. The air was thick with unspoken words, the weight of what was about to happen pressing on everyone’s chest. Today, Artemis was leaving. He had made up his mind. Luca Marconi had escaped, and he couldn’t sit still knowing the man who had threatened their family was still out there, free. He needed to hunt him down himself. This wasn’t just business—it was personal. Artemis stood in his room, fastening the last button on his dark navy shirt. His suitcases were packed, his plane ticket ready, and his weapons secured in a private transport arranged through his European allies. He was leaving in less than two hours. A knock came at his door. “Come in.” Alexander stepped inside, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Alexander sighed and crossed his arms. “So, you’re really doing this.” Artemis nodded. “I have to.” “I know.” Alexander exhaled, running a hand throu
The Robinson estate felt different without Artemis. Though Alexander had always been the leader, his brother had been his shadow, his right hand—the one who understood him best. Now, Artemis was out there, hunting Luca Marconi, and Alexander had to take control without hesitation. He didn’t have time to dwell on it. With the fall of the Marconi empire, the other families had turned their eyes to him and the Fowls, expecting them to keep their word. Promises had been made—fair shares in business, balanced power, and no unnecessary bloodshed. Alexander sat at the head of a long, polished table in the Bronson Industries boardroom, flanked by Bronson and Alan. Several powerful family heads had gathered, some with lingering doubt, others waiting for direction. “The Marconis are no longer in control,” Alexander said, his voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean chaos should follow. Our families agreed to maintain order, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” One of the family heads, Gi
Alexander leaned against his car, arms crossed, as he waited outside the café for Klarisse. It was a quiet evening, the warm glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows on the pavement. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted from inside, mingling with the crisp night air. It had been weeks since Artemis left on his mission, and despite the occasional intel updates from their European allies, there had been no direct contact from him. The silence was both expected and frustrating. Alexander knew his brother had to move carefully, but still—he had hoped for at least some sin that Artemis was making progress. His phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking him from his thoughts. When he pulled it out and saw the caller ID, his heart stopped for just a second. **Artemis.** Without hesitation, he answered. “Artemis?” “Yeah, it’s me.” The voice on the other end was sharp, clipped with frustration. Alexander immediately straightened, the tension in his body increasing. Klarisse, who w
Allie stared out the airplane window, watching as clouds blanketed the sky below her. The hum of the engines filled the silence around her, but inside her mind, a storm of thoughts raged. It was just a few hours before she would land in Colombia, where Artemis had last been seen. She could still hear Klarisse’s voice in her head from their heated conversation earlier that day. *"Are you insane, Allie? This isn’t some vacation. This is Artemis tracking down a fugitive Mafia boss who has tried to kill us all before. You don’t just walk into something like that!"* Allie had sighed, gripping her suitcase handle tightly. "Klarisse, I know you’re worried, but before I met you, before I started the café, I was street-smart. I know how to take care of myself." Klarisse had folded her arms, frustration clear on her face. "You think being street-smart is enough when dealing with men like Luca Marconi? Allie, this is a war. People die in wars." "But Artemis is in the middle of it," Allie ha
Allie had barely processed the new lead she had found when a **strong hand** gripped her arm, yanking her backward. Her instincts kicked in immediately, and she **twisted** against the force, preparing to fight. *"Not today,"* she thought, already calculating her best move. Before she could fully react, she was pushed against the cold, stone wall of an alley. Panic surged through her—until she saw his face. *"Artemis!"* His intense blue eyes locked onto hers, his grip still firm but not painful. His dark coat and suit blended into the shadows, making him look even more like a ghost from her past. She gasped, trying to catch her breath. "Artemis—what the hell?!" "Keep your voice down," he ordered in a low, urgent whisper, glancing past her toward the street. His expression was unreadable, but his body language told her everything. **They were in danger.** Still catching up with reality, Allie felt a surge of **relief, anger, and confusion** all at once. "I came looking for you!"
The tension that had been building for weeks finally **snapped**. Allie barely had time to react before **Artemis’s lips crashed onto hers**, stealing her breath, her thoughts—everything. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly close, as if he feared she would slip away. She didn't protest. Instead, she **answered every kiss**, matching his hunger, his desperation. Her hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him down, deepening the kiss, as if this were their last moment together. Because maybe it was. They had no guarantees—not in this world they were trapped in. Luca was still out there. Danger was always around the corner. The war between the families was far from over. But right now, none of that mattered. Allie moaned softly as Artemis's lips traveled to her jaw, then to the sensitive skin of her neck, **leaving a trail of fire in their wake**. "Allie," he murmured against her skin, his voice strained, as if he were **holding back**. She didn't want him to ho
The evening air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of city life as **Artemis and Allie stepped out of the safe house**. The weight of the past few days was heavy on their shoulders, but there was also a fleeting sense of relief—at least for now. Their update with **Alexander and Klarisse** had been reassuring. The Robinson and Fowl families were holding their ground, and things were surprisingly quiet back home. Too quiet. *"A calm before the storm,"* Artemis had muttered after ending the call, his instincts telling him that something was off. Still, they needed to **eat**, and Artemis wasn’t one to ignore Allie’s well-being, no matter how tense the situation was. So they found themselves in a **secluded pub**, tucked away in the darker alleys of the city, where they could blend into the shadows. It wasn’t fancy, but it was **safe**—or so they thought. They sat in a booth at the far end, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd. Artemis barely touched his food, his fingers drumm
The private jet cut through the sky, its engines humming steadily as it made its way back home. But inside, there was nothing steady about the atmosphere. **Artemis and Allie sat across from each other, locked in a heated argument.** *"We are not telling him, Allie. End of discussion,"* Artemis said, his voice **firm, unyielding**. Allie crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes blazing. *"No, Artemis. We are telling him. This isn’t your call to make alone!"* Artemis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His frustration was obvious, his usual controlled demeanor beginning to crack under the weight of their disagreement. *"I’m not letting Alexander carry this on his shoulders,"* he snapped. *"He already has enough to deal with. Luca is my problem. I’ll handle it."* Allie leaned forward, **her voice dangerously low**. *"Luca made it Alexander’s problem the moment he brought Maxine into this."* Artemis gritted his teeth. He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he w
The Council of Five convened in the grand chamber of the Robinson estate, its walls adorned with ancestral portraits and symbols of legacy. The air was thick with anticipation, as the members prepared to discuss a matter that could redefine the power dynamics within their intertwined families.At the head of the table sat Bronson Robinson, his demeanor as composed as ever. To his right was Alan Fowl, whose sharp eyes missed nothing. Opposite them were Angela Robinson and Kareen Fowl, both matriarchs with a deep understanding of the intricacies of their lineage. The fifth seat was occupied by Valentin Marconi, whose presence was both a reminder of past alliances and a testament to the enduring bonds between their families.Bronson began, "We are gathered here to discuss the implications of Artemis and Allie's forthcoming child. Given Artemis's position and the legacy he carries, this event cannot be viewed merely as a familial milestone."Alan nodded, "Indeed. Artemis, being the elder
The sun poured gently through the tall windows of the Robinson estate, casting warm gold hues on the white and blush-colored decorations that adorned the main hall. Delicate streamers, soft florals, and pastel balloons floated like clouds against the walls, and the scent of fresh peonies and vanilla drifted through the air. It was a peaceful day, filled with laughter and quiet joy—a stark contrast to the chaos that once defined their lives.The estate had been transformed into a soft, serene venue for a very special occasion: Allie’s baby shower.Guests bustled about with small gifts, trays of hors d'oeuvres, and glasses of sparkling juice. The entire Council of Five had sent their blessings, and the Fowl and Robinson families had gone all out. The garden outside was blooming, a symbolic touch Artemis had insisted on—flowers for new life, growth, and everything ahead.Inside, Allie sat in the drawing room, glowing in a pale blue dress that hugged her baby bump just right. Her hair was
The Robinson mansion’s private study had always been a place of power and quiet conversations—decisions that shaped alliances, safeguarded legacies, and at times, determined fates. Today, that room held such weight once again. The polished surface of the table between them reflected the two small velvet boxes—one black, one dark crimson—placed with deliberate care.Alexander sat quietly beside Klarisse, their hands resting just slightly apart. Both of them had seen and endured more than most in their lifetime, but this—this moment was something else. This was about their son. Their future.Across from them, Bronson Robinson and Alan Fowl wore unreadable expressions. Behind their eyes, legacies stirred—ones they had fought to preserve, often at great cost.“We agreed to meet privately,” Bronson began, his voice level but low, “because this is more than tradition. More than ceremony. This is about foresight.”Alan gave a solemn nod. “It’s time we talk about Lucas.”Klarisse instinctivel
The meeting room within the **Robinson estate** hadn’t been used in this way for months—not since Luca Marconi’s death, not since the world that balanced on an ancient agreement of blood and legacy had started to tilt toward something different.But today, the five families—those who had led from the shadows and shaped the underworld with steel hands and quiet resolve—had gathered again.**Bronson Robinson** sat at the head of the long mahogany table, with **Alan Fowl** to his right. Across from them sat the others: **Leandro Czerkov**, the stoic head of the old Eastern bloc lineage, scar-faced and silent. **Giovanna Santori**, the only woman to lead the Santori Syndicate, regal and razor-sharp. **Silas Valen**, the quietest among them, but no less dangerous—a man who said little but listened to everything.None of them had spoken yet. The weight of the recent visit to **Valentin Marconi** still hovered in the air, like a storm waiting to decide if it was truly over.Bronson was the o
The canals of Venice were quieter in the winter. Mists clung to the narrow alleyways like old secrets, and the silence that hung over the lagoon seemed sacred—untouched by the chaos that once roared through these ancient stone paths.It was here, on the edge of the lesser-known district of San Pietro di Castello, where **Valentin Marconi** had chosen to disappear. Not out of shame, but perhaps out of exhaustion. Grief had a way of silencing even the proudest names.The motorboat came quietly through the fog, its engine barely a whisper against the lapping water. Inside sat **Bronson Robinson** and **Alan Fowl**, their expressions sober as they approached the villa surrounded by overgrown cypress trees and guarded only by time and distance. No guards. No entourage. Just an unspoken understanding between old men who had outlived too much.Valentin was waiting for them. He stood on the balcony overlooking the canal, a cane in one hand, a glass of amaro in the other. His silver hair was t
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out onto the cobbled street, mingling with the warm mid-morning sun. The soft hum of chatter, the clinking of cups, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, a soothing balm after months of chaos and pain. The name—“Clara & Co.”—was painted above the counter in Allie’s own handwriting. A tribute to Klarisse, but also a quiet declaration of independence, had finally opened its doors for a quiet soft launch.It wasn’t a grand affair. There were no streamers, no major announcements. But for everyone who walked through those glass-paned doors, it was clear something special had taken root.Klarisse stood behind the counter, helping the barista learn the flow of orders. Her hands were deft, her movements calm—every motion reminding her of the early days when she and Allie used to dream of a place like this over late-night shifts and greasy diner food. Now, they were here. Together. Building something beautiful.Allie emerged from the bac
The late afternoon sun bathed the quiet Venice street in gold, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The building Allie had chosen wasn’t much yet—just a stone façade with boarded windows and ivy curling stubbornly around the frame. But where others might see a forgotten corner of the city, she saw potential.She sat across the street on a bench, sketchpad resting on her lap, pencil dancing lightly as she worked on the outlines of what the place could become. Her lips were slightly pursed in concentration, hair pulled into a messy knot, a coffee beside her now going cold. In her mind, the empty space had already transformed—soft pastels, arched windows, a hand-painted sign that read **“Clara & Co.”**Named not after herself, but as a nod to **Klarisse**—the friend who had once handed her an apron and said, “Just try. You’ll find you love it.”This café would be her own branch of Klarisse’s beloved shop, and Allie already imagined the menu, the soft clinking of teacups, the sme
The countryside rolled out before them in soft waves of green and gold, olive trees scattered like gentle sentinels across the hills. The villa stood like a warm promise—sunlit walls, terracotta roof tiles, and pale curtains fluttering at the open windows. Not opulent. Not defensive. Just... home.Klarisse stepped out of the car, her hand loosely gripping her daughter’s while Alexander carried their son in his arms, the toddler already pointing excitedly at the garden.“Mommy! Look, trees!” the boy exclaimed.Klarisse smiled, brushing back her daughter’s wind-blown curls as she murmured, “Yes, baby. So many trees.”They crossed the small stone path leading to the wide front steps. The air was fresh, the kind of quiet that invited stillness instead of pressing it upon you.Alex unlocked the door and gestured for them to go in first. “This is it,” he said simply.Inside, the villa was open and full of light. Large windows let the sunlight stream into a spacious living room that smelled
It started with a quiet morning.The twins were still asleep, tangled up in a nest of blankets and stuffed animals in the nursery suite. Klarisse had stepped out early for a walk with Kareen, leaving the estate unusually still. And in that silence, Alexander Robinson stood in the study with a blueprint spread across the desk.It was a property. A villa just on the edge of Venice—away from the noise and legacy of the Robinson estate, but close enough to feel connected to home.It wasn’t grand. Not by his family’s standards. But it was bright, surrounded by olive trees, with tall windows and a garden that would be perfect for growing wildflowers and a swing set for the twins.He traced the lines of the house with his finger, imagining it filled with laughter and warmth. A place not defined by old wounds, power, or politics—but by love. A place for healing. For them.For Klarisse.For the first time in weeks, he felt nervous in a way that had nothing to do with danger or strategy. This w