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Blood in the marble

Blood in the marble

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15 Chapters
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Blood in the Marble Love is a weapon. Trust is a death sentence. When Luca Romano returns to Valmont to avenge his brother's murder, he inherits more than a mafia empire-he inherits a war. Ruthless enemies close in, allies are fading fast, and the city whispers his name like a ghost: Il Fantasma. Then there's Evelina. All red lips and dangerous secrets, she's the kind of woman who can kiss you breathless-or betray you in your sleep. Torn between revenge and something that feels like love, Luca must decide: How much of his soul is he willing to lose to protect what's his? In a world carved by violence and lined in marble, the only thing more dangerous than power... is desire.

Chapter 1 Ghosts in the velvet

Luca

I never liked velvet.

It reminds me of coffins and old sins-soft to the touch but soaked in decay. And yet here I am, back in La Velluto, my father's favorite haunt, seated at his old table, drinking from his glass like I'm pretending this seat doesn't feel like a grave.

The jazz hums low, smoke curls in the air, and the lights stay dim for the same reason we all wear black-style masks the rot.

Nicolo leans in, smelling like cigars and loyalty I never asked for. "Sorrentinos moved south. Burned one of our trucks. No bodies. Just ash."

"Make it loud when we answer," I say, watching the stage.

That's when she walks out.

The new girl. Evelina.

She doesn't move like she's performing. She moves like she's remembering something no one else is allowed to know. Her hips sway slow, deliberate. Her eyes flick across the room like she's not looking for someone, but daring them to look at her.

Then she finds me.

And for a moment, everything goes still.

I've seen bullets fly quieter than her stare.

Evelina Pov

Men like him don't look at women like me unless they want something-or suspect something.

Luca Romano. The Ghost of Valmont. I've heard the stories. He once burned a man alive in a suit worth more than my apartment. Killed a rival with a silver fork at a funeral dinner. Always watching. Always waiting.

He's watching now.

I pretend I don't feel the weight of his eyes. But I do. And I let them hold me, just long enough to send a message:

I'm not afraid of ghosts.

I came here to get close.

And ghosts can't haunt what's already dead inside.

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