The storm rolled in over the city as dusk fell, shrouding the skyline in grim clouds. Thunder grumbled low in the distance, a warning growl before the lightning’s inevitable strike.Inside the upper floors of the old Salvi manor, Arturo stood at the head of a long table. Around him were faces ... some familiar, some recently turned ... all carrying the same grim set to their jaws. They were the last of the De Luca loyalists, the bitter remnants of broken families, and the wolves who had long waited for Carrick Gale to falter.Alessia De Luca sat to Arturo’s right, her hands neatly folded, a mask of calm that barely concealed the rage boiling underneath."Carrick’s bleeding," Arturo said, voice low but carrying. "The shipment hit hurt him worse than he’s letting on. His allies are whispering. Some are jumping ship."A younger man, Gaetano, leaned forward, his knuckles white against the table. "Then we press now. While he's weak. Burn the rest of his operations to the ground!"Arturo sh

The warehouse stank of oil, dust, and desperation.A single bare bulb swung from the ceiling, casting long, jittering shadows over the gathered men. Marco stood near the center, his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, while Silas leaned casually against a rusted support beam, arms folded, eyes glittering like a serpent waiting for its moment to strike."So what’s the play?" Marco asked, his voice low.Silas smiled ... that same unsettling, knowing smile. "Simple. We bleed Carrick dry from the inside. Cut his supply lines. Peel away his allies one by one."Marco’s jaw tightened. "You make it sound easy."Silas shrugged lazily. "It's not easy. It's inevitable. Carrick's empire is rotting. All we have to do is give it a little... push.""Push too hard," Marco muttered, "and he'll lash out."Silas stepped closer, voice dropping. "That's the idea. Let him lash out. Let him make mistakes. Then we move in for the kill."Marco stared at him, heart pounding in his chest. The though

Marco didn’t sleep that night.He sat in the war room ... a makeshift headquarters carved out of an abandoned speakeasy beneath the old theatre ... staring at the maps spread across the table. Each red pin marked a loyalty, each black pin a threat. And there were more black pins now than ever before.Victor entered, a mug of coffee in one hand, a pistol tucked into the back of his belt."You should rest," Victor said, setting the coffee down. "You look like hell."Marco didn’t move. "Carrick didn’t threaten me," he said, voice low. "He challenged me."Victor pulled a chair around and dropped into it, studying Marco."There's a difference?""Yeah," Marco said grimly. "One's a warning. The other’s a death sentence."Victor nodded slowly. "So what’s the play?"Marco leaned back, eyes burning. "We strike first."Victor's eyebrows lifted. "Now you’re speaking my language."But Marco wasn’t smiling."No messy fireworks. No grandstanding," he said. "We cut out Carrick’s heart while it’s stil

The smoke hadn’t even cleared from the ambush site when Marco slammed his fist onto the table back at the safehouse."Goddamn it!" he roared, sending a stack of blueprints flying.Victor stood nearby, a fresh gash bleeding across his brow, jaw set tight with anger.Silas limped in, clutching his side. "It was a setup," he rasped. "He knew every move we made."Marco’s face was carved from stone."He’s inside our circle," he said. "Somebody’s talking."Victor cursed low. "I’ll start running checks. Every man, every comm line.""No," Marco said, voice colder than steel. "I'll do it myself."He turned to Silas."Get patched up. You're no good to me bleeding out."Silas opened his mouth, thought better of it, and nodded, leaving the room.Only Victor stayed."You really think one of ours flipped?"Marco didn't answer right away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, hands steady even though his gut boiled."Not just flipped," he said finally. "They sold their soul."Victor’s mouth tightene

The morning after the ambush, the city felt like a carcass picked clean by vultures. Smoke clung to the skyline, and the streets buzzed with a violence that no longer tried to hide itself. In the ruined conference room of what once was the Montrose Hotel, Carrick Gale leaned over a scarred table, maps and dossiers spread out like a battlefield. Marco arrived late, limping slightly, Victor and Silas flanking him like angry hounds. The air between the two leaders crackled. "You called for this meeting," Marco said, voice like gravel. "You better have something worth my time, Carrick." Carrick didn't look up right away. He tapped a folder at the center of the table. "Lucien," Carrick said. "And his pet ghost, Delilah Blackthorn. They're not just gunning for you anymore." Marco snorted, stepping closer. "No shit." Carrick finally met his gaze. His eyes were sharp, glacial. "They're coming for all of us." Silence stretched. Victor shifted, resting his hand on the butt of his p