Lucian Moretti was not used to being denied information.In his world, access wasn’t requested—it was obtained.Data moved when he wanted it to move. People spoke when he needed them to speak. And doors—no matter how well guarded—eventually opened.Which was why, three days into his investigation, he was staring at a report that said absolutely nothing.Lucian stood at the edge of his office, the city stretched out beneath him in cold precision, his reflection faint against the glass.Behind him, Matteo sat in one of the leather chairs, unusually quiet.“That’s it?” Lucian asked finally.Matteo exhaled slowly.“That’s it.”Lucian turned.On the desk between them lay a file thicker than the previous one—pages filled with research, background checks, financial tracing, surveillance logs.And yet somehow, the most important parts were missing.No hospital records.No birth registration details beyond the most basic documentation.No trace of a father.Lucian’s gaze darkened.“That’s not
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-25
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