The villa’s grand hall was alive with whispers and shadowed glances. Despite the victory against the rival clan, unease seeped beneath the surface like poison. Elena knew that power was a double-edged sword — every ally could become an enemy, every bond a fragile thread waiting to snap.

She moved through the room with the grace of a queen accustomed to court intrigue, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Lorenzo was speaking with Dante near the windows, their voices low but urgent. Enzo stood by the fireplace, his usual stoic mask barely hiding the storm inside.

Elena’s mind replayed the day’s revelations — the discovery of a mole deep within their...