The study was quiet except for the soft clink of crystal glasses. Heavy red curtains blocked the city lights, casting long shadows over the room. A fire burned low in the hearth, flickering across the polished oak floor.
Don Marcello Bellini leaned back in his leather chair, a glass of deep red wine in hand. His sharp eyes glimmered in the firelight. The lines on his face showed a lifetime of power, cunning, and carefully hidden cruelty.
Raffaele, his most trusted man, stood near the desk, hands clasped behind his back. He watched Marcello carefully, waiting for the right moment to speak.
“Sir,” Raffaele said quietly, bowing slightly. “I did as you asked. Everything went perfectly.”
Marcello smiled, swirling his wine slowly. “I knew Adrian would do my dirty work. That boy has the insti
