Roberto rarely called for meetings in the grand, dimly lit parlor of the mansion. When he did, everyone understood that it was not out of routine but necessity, or worse, punishment. That morning, the sound of the brass bell clanging three times echoed through the halls, summoning all of them. Niccolo arrived last, trying not to appear anxious. The others were already gathered: Selene standing rigid as a statue, her hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl awaiting punishment; Teddy with his back slightly bowed, gaze lowered; Mary seated on the edge of her chair, eyes darting nervously from face to face. Two others stood in the shadows, older servants whose names Niccolo had never learned, men who had been swallowed so completely by this house that their identities had faded. But what struck Niccolo most was Roberto himself. The man leaned heavily on his carved ebony walking stick, the silver wolf’s head at its top glinting in the pale light filtering through the curtains. N

Two weeks had slipped by, and with each passing day Niccolo could see how time was cutting Roberto down. His once commanding voice had grown thinner, and his appetite which was once insatiable, had dwindled to almost nothing. Even his skin seemed to betray him; the flush of life draining away until he looked like a faded painting left too long in the sun.Niccolo observed it all quietly. Where another man might have felt pity, he felt nothing. Sympathy was a luxury reserved for those who had not tried to break him. Roberto was not one of them. If anything, Niccolo took it as a sign: the old lion’s teeth were dulling, and it was finally time to strike.One evening, he called Selene and Mary into his room. The air in the dimly lit quarters was heavy, his voice low and deliberate.“Pack as much cash as you can into duffel bags,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “At night, I’ll take them out one by one to my car. We’ll store them at my apartment for now.”The women