Arturo Delacroix had always prided himself on control.
Power wasn’t just about guns or men. It was about leverage. Secrets. Blood oaths. But as he stared at the video of his brother’s execution for the tenth time, something inside him snapped.
His estate in Milan had become a fortress overnight. Guards tripled. Every phone call tapped. Every ally questioned.
But deep down, Arturo knew.
Leon Virelli was coming for him. And worse — he was already inside the walls.
Arturo flung the laptop off the desk. It smashed against the marble with a satisfying c***k, but the rage in his chest remained.
“Bring in the assassin,” he growled.
His advisor, Lorenzo, hesitated. “The Black Vulture?”
“Now.”
Across the ocean, in the quiet calm of the Virelli estate, Leon stood in the training yard, shirt
