The jet sliced through a curtain of clouds, descending over the glowing sprawl of Geneva. Below, the city gleamed like scattered jewels under the night sky — pristine, deceptive, silent.

Inside the cabin, silence pulsed like a second heartbeat. Dante sat across from Isabella, eyes locked on the file spread before him. Every page was marked with names, codes, and shipping routes that led to one truth — Vescari had rebuilt an empire right under their noses.

“Dante,” Isabella said softly. “You haven’t spoken since we left Naples.”

His voice was low, dangerous in its calm. “Because every word feels like a countdown.”

She frowned. “To what?”

He looked up...