Chapter 158

PETER’S POV

Morning broke damp and gray over Milan. The city looked rinsed, streets still shining from a night of steady drizzle.

From my office windows the Duomo’s spires sat shrouded in low cloud, traffic moved in patient lines, and every sound—the horns, the scooters, the distant bell—felt dulled by the air.

I’d been in before seven, a habit that never left even when there was nothing to do. Meetings were blocked in half-hour squares across my calendar—logistics with New Jersey, a compliance check on Naples, a call with a boutique hotel group in Florence.

The day was set to move the way I preferred: clean, predictable, relentless.

Of course, that all changed when one of my assistants knocked on the door.

Marco edged in, spine too straight, a folder pinched in his fingers. He was never sloppy. He was also never pale. He looked pale now.

“What is it?” I asked.

“She’s signed,” he said.

“With whom,” I asked, though my body already knew.

He swallowed. “Zenith.”

I could feel my stoma