Three weeks after the shipyard, I stood in the ruins of my father's office.
The Romano estate had been hit two nights ago. Professional work. No witnesses. No bodies. Just destruction and a message spray-painted across the wall in red: "The game begins now."
Vincenzo was making his move.
I picked up a piece of broken glass from what used to be my father's favorite picture frame. In it, he stood with my mother on their wedding day, both of them young and hopeful. Before the blood. Before the lies. Before he chose power over love.
"The security tapes show six men," Lucky said from the doorway. "They knew exactly where the cameras were. This was planned."
I nodded without turning around. These past weeks had been the strangest of my life. Living in safe houses, moving every few days, wat
