The interior of the lighthouse was a symphony of humming servers and flickering blue light, a high-tech sanctuary hidden within a nineteenth-century shell. The air was pressurized and cool, a stark contrast to the salt-slicked chaos outside.
Matteo stood in the center of the room, his hand still resting on the grip of his weapon, his gaze darting between the monitor showing the docks and the crates bearing the Romano crest. "Your father didn't just leave you a town, Giulia," he whispered, the realization dawning on him like a slow-moving storm. "He left you a surveillance network that would make the Ministry of Defense jealous. He’s been watching us. Every move. Every shipment."
Giulia walked toward the central console. The digital feed was crisp—higher resolution than anything she’d see
