es

glass and marble, the billionaire stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, his reflection a sharp silhouette against the dark. At thirty-two, Vincenzo was a titan, his empire of tech, real e

ike the man who owned them. Art lined the walls-Picassos, Warhols, a Basquiat-but they were investments, not passions. The air carried a faint

ssio, his eight-year-old son, padded into the study. The boy's dark curls bounced, his gray eyes

ward, revealing a crude drawing of a race

t. He studied the drawing, his lips twitching in a

to his father's side. "Can

red. Alessio was his warmth, his only tether to something human in a wor

something-regret, maybe-crossing his face before it hardened again. He rose, smoothing his suit, and returned

ght. Across from him, Luca De Santis lounged, his black suit unbuttoned, his dark eyes glinting with a predator's ease. At thirty-one, the mafia lord was as ruthless as Vincenzo, his empire built on blood and loyalty.

ed his glass, his voice warm with mirth. "Ross

shadow of amusement. "He

ne. "They always think they c

risotto alla Milanese, and tiramisu that melted like a sigh. The room, with its high ceilings and silk drapes, was opulent yet cold, its grand

er gonna slow down, Vince? Find a woman, settl

im, sharp but unoffended. "I

e got my eye on someone." His thoughts drifted to Isabell

w, his voice dry. "Says the man wh

hoking on his risotto. "

his wit as sharp as his deals, but he remained distant, a king on a throne of glass. The wine loosened their tongues, stories of past conq

link on his sleeve-a silver relic, etched and worn. It was a fleeting gesture, unconscious, but Luca's eyes narrowed. He'd seen it before, this restl

aid, his voice casual but prob

eady and unreadable. "Just

heatrically. The room warmed with his laughter, but Vincenzo's thoughts drifted. The mansion's halls, so vast and empty, seemed to ech

t he didn't speak of, a moment buried under years of power. Luca's gaze lingered, but Vincenzo's face was stone, hi

one in the dining room, the table cleared, the silence deafening. He walked the halls, passing Alessio's room, wher

nk again, tracing its worn edges. A ghost, perhaps, stirred in the shadows of his mind, but Vince