Thunder rolled across the Milan sky like cannon fire muffled by the concrete walls of the safehouse. Inside the room, lit only by the blue glow of Marcus’s monitors, Dante Moretti stood perfectly still. He did not need light to see the chaos he was about to unleash. To him, the space was a web of electromagnetic vibrations and the soft hum of working machines.“Sir, Moretti Swiss Bank’s security system has detected our access attempt,” Marcus reported, his fingers flying over the keyboard at inhuman speed. “They’ve already blocked three of our shadow IPs. If we fail within three minutes, they’ll initiate a full biometric lockdown.”“They’re looking for fingerprints and retinal scans, Marcus,” Dante stepped toward the silver microphone standing at the center of the table. “They forgot my father built this system with one back door that no binary code can ever change.”“Protocol Ares,” Marcus muttered, cold sweat beading at his temples. “Are you sure your voice frequency is still the sa

Morning in Milan brought no warmth to Lorenzo Moretti.On the highest floor of Moretti Tower, the air felt thin and oppressive. Lorenzo stood before the massive reinforced glass windows, staring at a city that seemed to be pulling away from him. On his mahogany desk, reports of the massacre at the Linate hangar lay like death notices.“Ten men, Saul,” Lorenzo whispered hoarsely. “Ten elite Mossad soldiers. How is it possible that one blind man wiped them out in fifteen minutes?”Vargo, now wearing a cast on his arm and bruises covering his face, stood trembling in the corner.“He’s not a man, sir. He’s a ghost. He shut off the lights and… and he knew where we were before we even moved. He calls himself The Oracle.”“He is not The Oracle! He’s Dante! My brother who should be rotting at the bottom of the Mediterranean!” Lorenzo spun around, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “And now the Rossi family is backing him. Roberto Rossi sent his men to clean out that hangar. We’re surrounded, Va

The haze of gunpowder still lingered thinly in the air of the luxurious conference room. Dante Moretti remained standing tall, even though bullets had just sliced past him. To Dante, every projectile had a sound, a high-frequency hiss that cut through the moisture in the air.Beside him, Elena Rossi dove behind the solid mahogany table, her pistol trained on the open elevator doors.“Dante! There are three more! They’re wearing face shields!” Elena shouted over the chaos.“Don’t use your eyes, Elena. Listen to them,” Dante replied calmly. He folded his carbon cane and pulled a hidden mechanism, releasing a thin, flexible steel blade from within. “Their breathing is irregular. They’re amateurs paid with promises, not cash.”A gunman charged in, spraying his light machine gun wildly.Dante did not duck.He stepped aside with measured precision, as if he already knew exactly where every bullet would land. The moment the attacker had to reload, a sharp metallic click that rang clearly in

Dock 12 was a noisy jungle of steel.Here, the cold Mediterranean wind collided with the roar of massive cranes and the deafening slam of shipping containers. For ordinary people, this chaos was noise pollution, but for Dante Moretti it was a battlefield filled with lethal distractions.The black van stopped behind the shadow of stacked, rusted containers. Dante stepped out, his carbon cane folded at his belt, his right hand gripping the hilt of the hidden steel blade.“Too many distractions, sir,” Marcus whispered through the earpiece. “The waves beneath the pier are echoing off the concrete walls. I’m having trouble filtering their footsteps from the background noise.”“Use low-frequency filters, Marcus. Focus on the friction of tactical boot soles against steel plating,” Dante replied. He drew a deep breath, taking in diesel, salt, and rust. “Elena, what’s your position?”“I’m on crane number four, fifty meters north of you,” Elena’s voice came through clearly. “I see four silhouet

Lorenteggio District was the side of Milan tourism brochures tried to hide. Here, apartment walls were layered with overlapping graffiti, and the air reeked of used frying oil, gasoline, and rusted metal. In the corner of a narrow alley, a neon sign reading NET-ZONE flickered with an ear splitting hum.Dante Moretti stepped out of the black van, his carbon cane tapping against cracked asphalt. Beside him, Elena Rossi pulled her leather jacket tighter, her hand staying close to the pocket where she hid her weapon.“This place is a dump,” Elena whispered, eyeing the pile of trash in front of the internet cafe.“Garbage is the best place to hide diamonds, Elena,” Dante replied flatly. He tilted his head, listening to the vibrations inside the building. “There are twelve people inside. Nine are playing online games, one is sleeping, and one more… one more is holding her breath while typing at two hundred characters per minute.”“You can hear typing speed from here?” Elena stared at him in