The syndicate's siren.

ther of the interior, the subtle scent of Italian leather and his own custom cologne, the soft hum of the engine, it all spoke of absolute, unyielding control. Yet tonight, a faint, almost imper

hadow against the reflection of the towering city. He'd barely registered it, yet it lingered. He knew, with an unsettling certainty, that someone had been watching. And not just watching; studying. "We'll review all surveillance footage from the last 24 hours," Dante commanded, his voice hardening. "Every angle. I want to know who was breathing within a block of Moretti Global this evening without an explicit reason." Angelo nodded, already relaying the orders through his earpiece. His boss was rarely wrong about these things. As the limo navigated through the quieter residential districts towards Dante's private estate, his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the persistent attempts on his life over the past few months. They weren't the usual rival skirmishes; these felt... different. More professional, more elusive, almost surgical. Like the work of a phantom. And this sense of being watched tonight, it was stronger, more focused than before. He pulled out his phone, a secure device that bypassed all normal networks. The screen displayed a single, encrypted file – an anonymous dossier that had landed on his desk a week ago. It contained fragmented information about a shadowy network of assassins, a group so discreet they were practically mythical. And within it, a chillingly accurate description of their most dangerous asset: "The Ghost." Elusive. Untraceable. Lethal. And rumored to possess an uncanny ability to merge with the environment, disappearing as if by magic. Dante scoffed inwardly. Magic. He knew his family carried certain... proclivities,