Panic rippled through the boardroom like a shockwave. Tommaso pressed both hands against the table and closed his eyes. Patrizia covered her mouth. Even Luca's perfectly maintained composure flickered for a moment before he caught it and rearranged his features.That evening, Ginevra sat alone in her office and made phone calls. One after another, she contacted the most powerful businessmen she knew, men who had attended her corporate events, who had shaken her hand at banquets, who had praised the Moretti name at industry conferences."I am sorry, Ginevra, but I cannot get involved." The voice on the other end of the first call was apologetic but firm. "Damiano has too much influence. Opposing him publicly would put my own family at risk.""I understand your situation, but this is not my fight." The second call ended the same way. "The Orsini family has connections I cannot afford to challenge. I wish you the best.""Ginevra, I have enormous respect for you, but I have to think about

Ginevra walked into the Moretti Group headquarters Tuesday morning with her spine straight and her expression locked behind the same cold, impenetrable mask she had worn every day since taking control of the company. Her heels struck the marble floor with deliberate precision.Her designer coat hung perfectly from her shoulders. Nothing about her appearance suggested that she had spent the previous night sitting alone in her car outside a modest apartment building, rejected by the man she had once thrown away like yesterday's newspaper."Good morning, President Ginevra." Tommaso met her at the elevator, his tablet clutched against his chest like a shield. "The board is already assembled. They have questions about the crisis response plan.""Tell them I have the situation under control." Ginevra stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the executive floor without looking at him. "The matter will be resolved within the week.""Of course, President Ginevra." Tommaso hesitated

The doors closed behind him. The boardroom erupted into frantic, overlapping voices. Directors argued with each other, with Tommaso, with Patrizia, each one scrambling for solutions that did not exist.Ginevra gathered her documents and walked out without speaking to any of them. She took the elevator to the lobby and pushed through the main entrance into the afternoon sunlight.The reporters were already waiting."President Ginevra! Is it true that the Moretti Group is facing a hostile takeover?""Can you confirm that Damiano Orsini has acquired controlling interests in several of your subsidiaries?""Is there any truth to the rumors that your former husband refused to help the company?"The questions hit her like stones thrown from every direction. Camera flashes exploded in her face. Microphones were shoved toward her mouth by hands she could not see.Ginevra looked directly into the nearest camera. Her mouth opened. For three agonizing seconds, nothing came out. The cold, commandi

The black card arrived at Dante's apartment on a Wednesday evening, slipped beneath his door without a sound. No envelope. No return address.No company name. Just a single rectangular piece of material that felt heavier than paper but smoother than metal, identical to the card he had found on the corridor floor at the Palazzo banquet weeks earlier.A symbol was embossed on its surface in faint, matte ink. Angular. Precise. Familiar.Dante held it up to the dim light of his apartment window and turned it slowly between his fingers.aThe golden ring on his hand pulsed with a warmth so faint it could have been imagined. But Dante did not imagine things anymore. Not since the sanctuary.The symbol on the card matched one of the marks carved into the obsidian floor beneath the statue of Mars.On the back of the card, a single line of text had been printed in small, clean lettering. A time. A street name. Nothing else.Dante arrived at the location after dark. The building was old, wedged

Paddles rose immediately. Five million became six. Six became eight. Eight became ten.The numbers climbed with the rapid, relentless rhythm of a heartbeat accelerating toward a crisis.Dante leaned forward in his chair, his golden eyes fixed on the artifact. Every instinct Mars had given him screamed that the object belonged to him.Not because he wanted it. Because it was connected to the same power running through his veins."Twelve million." A heavy voice boomed from the left side of the chamber.A broad shouldered young man in an ivory suit stood up from his cushioned chair, his paddle raised high above his head.His dark hair was slicked back from a face that radiated the aggressive, theatrical confidence of someone who had spent his entire life surrounded by people who told him he was extraordinary.Fabian De Luca. The youngest heir of the De Luca banking dynasty. Twenty eight years old. Net worth estimated in the hundreds of millions.Known throughout the city's elite circles