Dawn broke over Palermo like blood on stone. Elena stood at the edge of the villa’s terrace, rain-soaked hair clinging to her face, eyes scanning the awakening city. Smoke from the docks’ destruction still curled into the sky, a reminder that their strike had shaken the underworld. But victory, she knew, was temporary. In this world, every gain came with a cost. Every move drew a counter.

Enzo emerged from the shadows of the hallway, his tailored suit damp from the storm outside, hair plastered to his forehead. He approached silently, hands sliding to her waist, drawing her into his warmth.

“They’re already moving,” he said, voice low, tense. “I’ve...