Chapter 15

• Milan had awakened under a fragile calm. The streets, once humming with cameras and conspiracy, now held the quiet promise of rebuilding. But beneath that calm, the underworld stirred rival factions dissolving Grey’s legacy were regrouping, and unexpected threats lurked in politics and whispered alliances.
• Isandro and Kieran met in Isandro’s private office, which overlooked the courtyard below. The morning sunlight cast long shadows across the high‑polished marble floor. They stood close but not touching.
• “We’ve sealed most networks,” Lina said, placing a cup of coffee in each of their hands. “But there’s still resistance.”
• Isandro took a slow sip, the bitter warmth grounding him. “The Italian senate has opened inquiries.” His gaze flicked to Kieran. “Every move we make is scrutinized.”
• Kieran leaned forward, fingers brushing Isandro’s arm. “We need to remind them why this started why it matters.”
• Isandro’s eyes softened. “A public forum, perhaps? Something less than a press conference.”
• Lina stepped in. “Geneva was formal. We need something grassroots human stories, survivors speaking.”
• A plan formed: a televised town hall at a liberated shelter, where rescued men and women would share their stories with both families’ communities, as ambassadors of change.
• That evening, they stepped onto a small stage in an outdoor courtyard of an old Moretti safehouse wooden platform, soft lights, survivors’ faces in shadows behind them. A single mic, two chairs, and a low crowd of media, family members, and activists gathered in hushed expectation.
• Kieran adjusted the mic, scanning the faces. “We built this to save lives,” he began. “Not to win political points. Not to rebrand our legacy. To save lives.”
• The crowd murmured. Isandro stepped forward. “This is our vow publicly and personally. We stand with the people we liberated. We stand with their stories.”
• A survivor took the stage next to a young woman whose spine trembled with the weight of what she’d endured. Her truth was raw and jagged. The audience held its breath.
• By the end, tears filled hundreds of eyes. Cameras recorded every emotion.
• When the event ended, Isandro and Kieran stepped off the stage, hand in hand in an act of defiance and unity.
• Three days later, a threat arrived.
• A delicate envelope, slipped under Isandro’s door. No return address. Inside, a photo: Kieran’s right wrist where he wore a silver Walsh crest marked by blue bruising. A message typed below: “Your Irish wolf bleeds when tied.”
• Isandro’s chest stilled as he showed the photo to Kieran. The bruise was fresh Kieran had hidden it.
• Kieran’s jaw clenched. “If that’s from… ’old friends’ in Belfast they know.”
• Isandro crushed the envelope in his fist. “Then we’ll teach them loyalty.”
• Kieran swallowed past anger. “This is a warning. Maybe worse.”
• Isandro met his eyes. “We won’t back down.”
• They shared a fierce, electric moment fingers pressed together in promise.
• That night, they gathered their teams in the war room once more. Matteo, Liam, Lina, and representatives from both families filled the table. Screens glowed with surveillance feeds and city schematics.
• “To retaliate,” Isandro began. He tapped the bruise photo pinned on the board. “Someone attacked Kieran at his safehouse in Belfast. We believe it’s a message from old Walsh loyalists.”
• Liam cursed under his breath. “They’ve been quiet for months. Guess someone didn’t believe in change.”
• Kieran’s voice was cold: “They crossed the line.”
• Isandro’s dark eyes circled the room. “We act fast. Quietly. Neutralize threats. Show strength without shattering trust.”
• Lina nodded. “And we escalate stories of this rally, to show we won’t be intimidated.”
• The plan fell into place: operative teams deployed to Belfast and Dublin to secure Kieran’s network and uncover the attackers. A media piece prepared about Kieran’s survival to highlight the cost of change.
• When night fell, Isandro accompanied Liam and two Moretti enforcers on a covert flight to Belfast. Kieran stayed in Milan, coordinating from afar with local Walsh forces.
• Isandro’s heart pounded as the flight tension edged over relief and fear. This wasn’t about Grey anymore. This was personal.
• They landed outside the safehouse, wheels whispering against tarmac. Liam led the way license plates masked, lights low. Inside, they found signs of forced entry: overturned furniture, splintered door frames, blood spatter on the corridor wall.
• Isandro swallowed hard. “He’s not here but that was brutal.”
• Liam pulled a glove from his pocket. “DNA taken. We'll match it to known Walsh holdouts.”
• Isandro felt the weight again that razor’s edge of love and risk.
• He spoke low: “Finish the job. Find him. Protect. Report.”
• Liam nodded. “We won’t fail.”
• Back in Milan, word arrived that Kieran had publicly addressed the intimidation during a televised interview, framed as an act of courage and a show of solidarity.
• Isandro watched it unfold on a screen at the compound, beside Kieran. The interviewer had asked him why he remained public after such an attack.
• Kieran tipped his chin with fierce pride. “Because fear is a disease. I choose faith in us, in the change, in healing.”
• Isandro pressed Kieran’s hand. “And they felt your strength.”
• Kieran turned into him then eyes fierce. “Your strength.”
• They held each other, the moment thrumming with emotional resonance.
• That night, they returned to Isandro’s suite unspoken gratitude and fierce protection hanging between them. The city lay quiet beneath a velvet sky. Tension remained but so did resolve.
• Isandro seduced Kieran slowly touching bruised skin with reverence, pressing soft kisses to the wrist where old wounds remained. He unwrapped his lover from the night.
• In the aftermath, Kieran pulled him closer. “We’re bound by more than debt.”
• Isandro whispered back: “By blood.”
• They collapsed into each other, fierce and intimate their bodies a refuge and a weapon.
• Morning came. Kieran and Isandro met over coffee in the study. Matteo and Liam entered together, maps unfurled.
• “Kieran’s network is secure. We found who attacked an old Irish contingent named The O’Donnell Brigade.”
• Kieran clenched his jaw. “They’ll pay.”
• Isandro put a hand on his shoulder. “We deal with them. Carefully.”
• Lina appeared, tablet in hand. “Press wants minutes from your off-the-record statement. Legal teams want your signature.”
• They looked at each other, eyes filled with the gravity of public exposure.
• Kieran drank his coffee. “Let them wait.”
• Isandro added: “This alliance our promise is worth any exposure.”
• Their fingers met behind the table.