The Marchesi estate had weathered storms before—of bullets, betrayal, blood. But this time, the air itself felt different.Heavier. Charged.As if something ancient was waking beneath the stone.Lucien stood at the northern overlook, hands clasped behind his back, watching the estate grounds shift from tranquil to tactical. His men were repositioning. Additional towers erected. Electronic countermeasures layered like armor across the perimeter. A double line of surveillance drones circled overhead, their paths crisscrossing like a net of invisible fire.Elian had arrived with another truck of former agents—men who had once worked beyond governments, now loyal only to the man who saved their families from the war the world pretended never happened.By noon, the estate was no longer a home.It was a fortress.“Status,” Lucien said without turning.Matteo stepped up beside him, holding a tablet. “All
The photo burned into Lucien’s mind like a brand.Lucio. Captured through a long-range scope. Wind in his dark curls. One foot raised mid-step. Oblivious to the crosshairs drawn around his life.The image sat on his desk now, beside the Codex Custodia and Valeria’s final letter.Across the estate, alarms were muted but alive. Guards repositioned. All gates locked. Cameras triple-encrypted. The Marchesi stronghold had not been this fortified since the war between syndicates nearly two decades earlier.But this wasn’t about crime.This was about something far older. And it had finally awakened.Lucien stood at the window, storm-colored eyes fixed on the trees swaying just beyond the gates. A target on his son’s head wasn’t just revenge.It was a message.We know what you’ve inherited.And we’re not done.In the lower wing, Matteo projected the digital envelope’s metadata onto the war room wall. “No return route. Sent via triple-spoofed relays in Chile, Estonia, and Cairo. Whoever did th
The storm had passed—but the echoes of Allegra Ventresca’s downfall lingered in every marble corridor of the Marchesi estate.Outside, the sun touched the limestone walls with false serenity, casting long shadows over windows too old to forget what they’d seen. Inside, guards moved like ghosts. Rooms were swept, systems were re-secured, and a child’s laughter—Lucio’s—bounced down the east hallway with a defiance that felt like victory.But Lucien Marchesi didn’t feel victorious.He stood at the center of the study, the very room where Giorgio once signed trade agreements with empires and Valeria read books no one knew she owned. The scent of old parchment and polished walnut grounded him in a history that had once been stolen, then reclaimed at a cost.On the desk sat the audio device recovered from Allegra’s vault. Still warm.“If you’ve found this,” Valeria’s voice had said, brittle and unfinished, “then it’s already begun.”Lucien played it again. Over and over. Each time it felt m
The courtyard was silent but for the whisper of jasmine in the breeze.Lucien stood at the garden’s edge, framed in marble archways and morning light that had no business being gentle. His storm-colored eyes were locked on Allegra, who stood as if rooted to the stone, her black coat rippling like a shadow trying to unfasten itself from the past."You always knew how to find the cracks in a kingdom," she said first, voice low, almost reverent. “Even as a child, you didn’t blink.”“I learned early,” Lucien replied, stepping forward, “that blinking lets in the lies.”They stopped two meters apart, close enough to read the age in each other’s faces, but far enough to keep rage from becoming violence. Not yet."You came alone," she noted, glancing toward the silent hedgerows. "No army. No agents. No weapons."Lucien gave a half-smile. "You took my son. What more could I bring than that?"Allegra tilted her head. “I didn’t take him, Lucien. I claimed him. Claimed what was stolen from me. Fr
The sun hadn’t yet broken over the Sicilian coastline when the rotor blades carved a howl through the predawn silence. Below, the land turned from black to deep violet. Stone roads unfurled like veins, and the vineyards vanished into a cliff face overlooking the sea.Lucien Marchesi gripped the frame of the open helicopter door, storm-colored eyes narrowed against the wind. His breath was steady. His silence, colder than the steel beneath his boots.“They hit the safehouse shortly after 3:00 a.m.,” Vincenzo reported beside him, his voice crackling through the comms. “Six total. Clean entry. Disguised as special operations. No mistakes.”Lucien didn’t speak.“They took Lucio.”Still no reaction—only the tightening of his jaw, the hollow expansion of his chest as if the air itself dared weigh on him too heavily.“Elian survived,” Vincenzo added. “Barely. Knife wound to the abdomen. Lost a lot of blood, but he held them off long enough for backup to recover the surveillance footage.”Luc
The wind cut through Dubrovnik’s alleys like a blade sharpened by history.Lucien Marchesi walked beneath the stone arches of the ancient quarter with measured steps, his coat flaring behind him. The moonlight flickered off the cobbled streets, throwing long shadows that seemed to follow him with more than curiosity.Beside him, Anton kept one hand on his holstered pistol. Behind them, Seraphina scanned every corner, every rooftop. She’d been silent since the call—since confirming that the file was real, and that it was hidden below one of the city’s oldest cathedrals.“The priest on record?” Lucien asked, breaking the silence.“Gone,” Seraphina replied. “Transferred without notice a week ago. Interpol confirmed he was replaced with a ghost identity.”“Vale Sr.?”“Possibly. Or someone working beneath him. It’s the kind of misdirection he’d admire.”Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “No. This feels… messier. Personal.”They reached the cathedral through a concealed entrance in the crypt garden—a