The wind rattled the glass panes of the villa’s war room, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea. Elena sat at the long oak table, her eyes fixed on the map sprawled before her. The city was marked in crimson and black pins, each one representing an asset, an enemy, or a neutral zone that could tip either way.

Enzo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her without speaking. His silence wasn’t indifference—it was strategy. He was letting her take the lead tonight.

“Three warehouses burned in the east docks,” Elena said finally, her voice low but razor-sharp. “That’s no accident. And it’s not just a...