Kingdom of broken crowns

The black Maybach slid to a stop in front of the Veleno Corporation’s private entrance.

Inside, Damian Moretti watched the glass doors with dead eyes.

The file in his hand shook — just slightly — the only betrayal of the storm inside him.

A child.

His child.

Hidden from him for three years.

He tasted blood at the back of his throat. His men spoke around him — urgent, frightened — but their voices faded into nothing.

Only one voice mattered.

Hers.

Astra.

The woman who wore crowns of bone and gold.

The woman who haunted his every breath.

The woman who had carved out his heart — and kept it prisoner.

"Boss," said Matteo from the front seat. "Orders?"

Damian’s fingers curled into a fist around the file. Dante’s tiny photo crumpled under the pressure.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, with terrifying calmness:

"Bring her to me."

"But—"

"Alive." His voice dropped into something darker than murder. "Alive, Matteo."

The men scrambled into action, knowing better than to argue.

Damian leaned back against the leather seat, shutting his eyes briefly.

He remembered Astra's laugh — sharp, wicked, full of life.

He remembered her screams — when he pulled her into his darkness.

He remembered the night he thought she betrayed him, and the moment he chose hate over forgiveness.

But she hadn't just betrayed him.

She had stolen his blood.

Damian opened his eyes, silver and merciless.

She was still his Queen.

And now — she would kneel.

Whether by love.

Or by chains.

---

Meanwhile...

Astra held Dante in her arms, heart pounding like a trapped bird.

She kissed his soft black curls, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and something sweeter, something purer than anything she had ever touched.

Her guards were already moving — loading armored cars, checking weapons.

"Luca," she whispered, stroking Dante’s tiny cheek, "if anything happens to me—"

"It won't," Luca said harshly.

"—take him somewhere safe. Somewhere Damian Moretti can never find him."

Luca hesitated. "You think he’ll hurt the boy?"

Astra closed her eyes.

No.

Not hurt.

Claim.

Control.

Twist Dante into a weapon of their bloody legacy.

And Astra would die before letting her son become a monster.

Her little boy stirred sleepily in her arms, murmuring, "Mama..."

Tears burned behind her eyelids. "Shh, baby. Mama’s right here."

For now.

---

Outside, at the gates, black SUVs appeared like wolves at the edge of the woods.

And in the lead car, Damian Moretti stepped out — dressed for war.

The King had come for his Queen.

And his heir.

[TO BE CONTINUED...]

Poem

"Wings of Tomorrow"

Beneath the silent, endless skies,

a thousand unseen dreams arise.

Through broken roads and winds that cry,

the heart still dares to soar and fly.

Each scar, a story; each tear, a seed,

planting gardens born of need.

Hope is a river, fierce and wide,

carving strength where fears collide.

So lift your gaze, breathe in the skies —

even shattered wings can rise.

Tomorrow waits with open hands,

built by the dreamer who still stands.

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