The Gale Estate stood like a sleeping beast under the velvet night. Rain had begun to fall again, soft at first, then heavier, pounding against the slate roof tiles and washing the blood from earlier battles into the gutters. Inside the war room, Carrick Gale sat alone with only the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the crackle of the fireplace for company. The city was at war. And he, its king, was losing pieces every day.The door creaked open."You're early," Carrick murmured without looking.Victor stepped in, soaked from the downpour. He shook the rain from his coat and tossed a folder onto the table. "That was the last of them. Lucien's enforcers wiped out the East End warehouse. We lost three men."Carrick opened the folder. Inside were photos...gruesome images of his men laid out in a pool of their own lifeblood, bodies twisted, eyes wide. He closed the folder slowly. "He moves like a ghost."Victor sat down. "And the city's turning against us. More of our allies are g

The rain fell like needles, sharp and relentless, as if the sky itself was trying to wash the city clean. But no amount of water could scrub the blood from its bones.Inside the old stone chapel Carrick had converted into a temporary command center, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Maps were pinned to the walls, marked with circles and Xs. Weapons lay stacked in corners. Men moved like ghosts, speaking in hushed tones. They all knew something was coming.Carrick stood near the altar, staring at a photo of Elena De Luca. Not out of remorse...he had none left...but because even dead, she was haunting him.Victor entered, shaking the rain from his coat. “We’ve confirmed it. Alessia’s forces have taken Pier Forty-Six. That cuts off our southside route.”Carrick’s jaw tightened. “Who led the hit?”“Lucien. With about two dozen men. They didn’t leave survivors.”Carrick turned from the photo, eyes burning. “She’s not playing politics anymore. She’s coming for my throat.”Victor nod

The rain came down like needles on glass, sharp and relentless, painting the city in a sheen of steel and sorrow. Atop a rooftop overlooking the Eastway Bridge, Alessia De Luca stood beneath a dark umbrella, flanked by Lucien and two of her most trusted enforcers. Her coat flared behind her in the wind, and her eyes were locked on the approaching black SUV that cut through the mist like a blade."He's early," Lucien murmured, his hand resting inside his coat."Good," Alessia replied. "Let him wait on me for once."The SUV stopped ten feet from them. The driver's door opened first—a gesture of deference—and then Arturo Salvi emerged, his silhouette bulky beneath a tailored raincoat. A man followed behind, younger, unfamiliar. A messenger? A backup?Arturo raised a hand. "I assume you're not going to shoot me on arrival.""Depends on what you have to say," Alessia answered flatly. Her voice cut through the rain like broken glass.Arturo moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate. Lucie

The sky over the city was iron gray, the kind of color that warned of a storm long before the first drop fell. The wind had teeth that bit through coats and skin alike, and the streets were whispering with a nervous kind of energy...as if they knew something was coming. Something inevitable.Inside the old church turned safehouse in the East District, Carrick Gale stood at the pulpit, the stained glass shattered behind him, letting in slivers of light like fractured truth. Around him, his lieutenants gathered, each one worn, bloodied, but alive. Barely."We lost two more trucks last night," Victor said, his voice taut with fury. "Same pattern. Hit at the border, burned, and the survivors left with their tongues cut out."Carrick didn’t flinch. He simply nodded. "Alessia.""It’s not just her," Marco said, leaning against a pillar with a fresh bruise darkening his jaw. "She’s got new muscle. Lucien’s pulling ghosts out of the damn ground.""Salvi too," Enzo added. "Word is, he’s putting

The sun was setting behind the skyline when Carrick Gale stepped into the conservatory of the old Cassaro estate...an overgrown garden trapped in glass and silence. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and rot. Vines had climbed over stone statues and crumbling benches, but the path remained clear. It had once been a place of peace for the Cassaro family, before they were bled out by the De Lucas in a long-forgotten feud. Now it served Carrick as a meeting ground. Neutral. Isolated. Forgotten.Marco trailed behind him, eyes scanning the shifting shadows between the hedgerows."Why here?" he asked.Carrick didn’t stop walking. "Because it’s a graveyard with flowers. Suits the tone."They arrived at the broken fountain at the heart of the garden. The sound of trickling water had long ceased, but Carrick could still hear ghosts in the silence.Victor was already waiting. He stepped out from beneath the trellis, face unreadable."She sent a message," he said.Carrick raised an eyeb