The elevator doors slid shut, sealing June inside the cold, metallic box. The air was thick with the scent of polished floors and her own mounting panic. She stared at her phone, her thumb pressed hard against the glass, where Leo’s sleeping face glowed softly. He looked so peaceful, utterly unaware that his own grandmother hovered nearby, all shadow and menace, ready to strike.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, thin and unfamiliar. “He’s your grandson, Eleanor. Dante’s your son. How can you do this to your own family?”
On the screen, Eleanor Romano’s lips curled into a sharp, cruel smile. She dangled a tiny silver remote in her hand, the gesture taunting. “Dante’s weak, June. A Romano who chooses love over power doesn’t deserve to lead. If he survives, he’ll hand the compa
