The smoke hadn’t even cleared from Salvatore’s funeral pyre before the vultures began to circle.
Adrian stood on the stone balcony of the Lockwood estate, watching the flood of black cars wind through the long driveway like snakes slithering into sacred ground. They were here not to mourn, but to seize what remained of a fractured empire.
Behind him, the mansion pulsed with tension. Armed guards. Whispered suspicions. The air tasted of betrayal.
He turned when Zora entered, sharp in her dark suit. “They’re demanding a vote. Leadership must be re-established.”
“Let them demand,” Adrian muttered. “They don’t get to rebuild what they destroyed.”
Zora stepped beside him. “Valentina will need your voice in that room.”
His jaw tensed. “She doesn’t need me to speak. She’s already the loudes
