We finally got there.

I could see the mansion looming ahead, its iron gates glinting under the moonlight, a fortress of memories and power.

I pulled up in my battered car, the engine growling as I stopped at the gate. The security guards snapped to attention, their eyes narrowing until they recognized me.

“Moretti,” one muttered, waving us through. I caught the flicker of respect in their stance. Grandfather’s doing, no doubt. He’d made sure the mansion was ready for my return, even after everything.

I drove into the compound, the gravel crunching under the tires, and a wave of nostalgia hit me hard.

The sprawling estate, with its stone...