OLIVIA
The Continental Gala ballroom spanned the length of a city block, shimmering under the glow of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Gold leaf adorned the vaulted ceilings, and a string quartet played a haunting, classical rendition of a modern pop song in the far corner. To any outside observer, it was a gathering of Italy’s most elite politicians, wealthy aristocrats, and respected businessmen.
Beneath the expensive veneer, it was a room filled with vipers.
Every man holding a champagne flute was a syndicate boss, a corrupt judge, or a lethal enforcer. They smiled politely at each other, yet their eyes calculated vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Standing near one of the towering marble columns, I felt like a bleeding piece of meat thrown into a shark tank.
The sheer red silk dress clung
