The safe house breathed like a living thing—low hum of servers, the scent of burnt coffee and old blood clinging to the concrete walls.Luka Voss sat hunched over Dante’s jury-rigged quantum decrypter, fingers flying across three keyboards at once.His eyes, sunken and shadowed from five years in Black Spire’s concrete womb, never left the cascading lines of code.Wires snaked from his workstation like veins feeding a mechanical heart. He didn’t blink and didn’t pause. Just tore through encryption protocols like a man digging his own grave.Marco leaned against the steel doorframe, arms crossed over his still-bandaged ribs."You look like a mad scientist who just found something strange in a spreadsheet," he called out, voice rough with exhaustion. "Any minute now you’ll cackle and summon lightning."Voss didn’t look up. His reply was a dry rasp, the voice of a man who’d forgotten how to speak above a whisper. "I’m not splitting atoms, ragazzo. I’m splitting the spine of Banca Nobile.

The news hit Milan like a thunderclap."ORION VALTIERI RETURNS AS PRESIDING JUDGE IN DE LUCA-MARCHESE TRIAL"The headline blazed across every screen in the city—from the cracked televisions in Quarto Oggiaro tenements to the polished displays in the penthouses of Porta Nuova.News vans swarmed the courthouse steps. Reporters shouted over each other, microphones thrust toward anyone who might know something. Social media exploded with the hashtag #GhostJudge.Orion Valtieri.The man who had vanished years ago, leaving behind only rumors and a legacy carved in blood and justice.Some said he'd been assassinated by the DeLucas. Others whispered he'd fled to South America with a suitcase full of evidence. A few claimed he'd simply grown tired of fighting a war he couldn't win.But now?Now he was back.And the city felt it in their bones.In the slums, the reaction was immediate.Women paused in the middle of cooking dinner, hands frozen over steaming pots. Men stopped playing cards in the

The courthouse steps were slick with rain, gleaming like freshly spilled blood under the Milan sky. Adrian DeLuca didn’t climb them, he claimed them powerfully.One step at a time, his boots striking the stone with the rhythm of a heartbeat counting down to war. The crowd parted before him—men in suits, women in scarves, children hoisted on shoulders—like Moses parting the Red Sea. Cameras flashed like gunfire. Microphones thrust forward. Voices shouted his name—Adrian! Adrian!—not as a plea, but as a chant.Then he saw them.Matteo and Luca DeLuca stood just inside the entrance, flanked by two men in black suits—wolves in sheep’s clothing, Adrian thought. Their faces were carved from ice, their postures rigid with contempt. Luca’s jaw was tight, his eyes burning with something between fury and disbelief. Matteo wore that same cold smirk he’d worn since they were boys, but Adrian saw the flicker behind it. Fear."Look who crawled out of the gutter," Luca said, voice dripping with venom

The courtroom still vibrated with the aftermath of the verdict."Adrian! Adrian! Adrian!"The chants continued throughout, growing louder with each passing second. Gina Vieri was now finally happy, her daughter got her justice. Orion Valtieri had already left the bench, disappearing through the back chambers with the quiet dignity of a man who had just delivered history.Enzo and Riccardo had been dragged away, they had screamed threats, still denying reality. Their lawyers sat in stunned silence, papers scattered across the table like the remnants of a battle they hadn't known they'd lost.Adrian stood at the center of the storm, watching the chaos with eyes that had seen too much to be surprised by anything anymore. This was justice (spiced up with a "little" vengeance you know)Then his phone buzzed.Just once.A single vibration against his thigh.He didn't need to look at it.He already knew.'Now'.◇◇◇◇◇Salvatore sat in his study, the television muted, his face carved from stone

The dawn came pale and cold.The kind of silence that settles over a city before it bleeds.Adrian stood at the window of the safe house, watching the first light creep across Milan’s skyline like a thief. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. He just stood there, waiting.Today was the day.Six days since the verdict.Six days since justice had been served in court.Today, it would be served in blood.Enzo DeLuca and Riccardo Marchesi were scheduled for execution at 6:00 AM sharp—lethal injection in the cold, sterile chamber of Milan’s maximum-security prison. The city had been buzzing with anticipation since the verdict, divided between those who wanted to see them burn and those who still believed in the DeLuca name.Adrian didn’t care what they thought.All he cared about was justice for Sofia.All he cared about was making sure her name wasn’t buried with her body.At 5:30 AM, Adrian stood watching the live feed on Dante's monitors. His face was stone, but his hands—hidden in the pockets