Naples pulsed with unease. Every rumor, every whisper in the streets carried the Moretti name. Merchants shuttered their shops early, guards doubled their patrols, and alliances that once stood steady began to tremble like houses built on sand.
Inside the Rossi villa, the air was just as tense.
Adriana moved through the halls like a figure carved from marble—graceful, untouchable, but hollow inside. Every step echoed the same truth: her world was collapsing. And yet she kept her mask in place, because masks were all that stood between her and ruin.
But she wasn’t the only one playing.
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The council chamber was heavy with cigar smoke and fury. Enzo Rossi sat at the head of the long table, Luca to his right, Marco to his left, and Isabella lounging gracefully in the corner like a cat
