(Luca)
The city never sleeps.
It watches.
I stand on the balcony overlooking the estate grounds, phone pressed to my ear, the night air heavy with the scent of gun oil and damp stone. Beyond the perimeter wall, lights blink in the distance—districts I own, streets that answer when I speak.
“Say it again,” I say quietly.
Vincenzo doesn’t raise his voice. He never does when the news is dangerous. “We intercepted chatter near the east routes. Not our men. Outsiders.”
My grip tightens on the railing. “Names.”
“Not yet. But her name came up.”
That single word is enough.
“How?” I ask.
“Not as a target,” he says. “As a question. Someone’s asking why you brought her back.”
I close my eyes briefly.
Curiosity is always the first threat.
“Lock down movement,” I say. “No shipments without
