The hush that fell over the room was subtle and respectful, as the Governor of Palermo, Sicily, stepped onto the grand stage at the head of the ballroom.
The governor, an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes, was dressed in a crisp suit that cost more than most of the people in his city made in a year. Governor Francesco Ricci had been in office long enough to know that his real power did not lie in his policies but in the men standing in this room.
The mafia leaders, business tycoons, and corrupt officials.
They were the real rulers of this city.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth and practiced, “welcome to another evening of unity and prosperity.”
Rhea nearly scoffed.
Unity? Prosperity? In a city where blood ran through the streets like rainwater? Where power c
