The ruins of the east wing still smoked when the sun climbed higher. Damian stood among the ashes, his boots crunching over charred marble.
The symbol burned into the floor haunted him. A circle with three intersecting lines. It wasn't just a mark. It was a declaration.
Luca approached, his face drawn. "We've checked every camera. The feeds cut out five minutes before the blast. Whoever did this knew the system."
"Inside job," Damian muttered.
"Maybe. But there's something else." Luca handed him a small metal shard, blackened by fire. "Found this near the generator.
Military-grade detonator. Not something you buy off the street."
Damian turned it over in his hand. "So they have resources."
"More than we thought."
He pocketed the shard. "Get Matteo ready. I want answers."
Down in the basement, Matteo looked worse than before—pale, exhausted, but still defiant.
"You've seen the symbol," Damian said.
Matteo's eyes flickered. "So they've made their move."
"Who are they?"
Matteo hesitated.
"They call themselves Il Cerchio. The Circle. Old families, old money. They've been waiting for a chance to reclaim what they lost when your father took control."
Damian's voice hardened. "And you helped them."
"I survived them," Matteo said. "There's a difference."
"Then help me destroy them."
Matteo's lips curved into a faint smile. "You can't destroy what you don't understand. The Circle doesn't fight for power. They fight for legacy."
Damian leaned closer. "Then I'll burn their legacy to the ground."
Matteo's smile faded. "Be careful, cousin. They don't fear death. They fear being forgotten."
By evening, the estate was crawling with guards. Damian's men swept every room, every hallway. The Circle had declared war, and Damian intended to answer.
In his office, maps and files covered the desk. Luca stood beside him, pointing to a cluster of red marks. "These are the warehouses hit in the last month. All connected to the same supplier—Vincenzo D'Amato."
Damian frowned. "D'Amato's been loyal for years."
"Until now," Luca said. "He's been moving shipments under a different name. We traced one to a warehouse outside the city."
Damian grabbed his coat. "We're going."
The warehouse sat on the edge of the industrial district, silent except for the hum of distant traffic. Damian and Luca entered through the side door, guns drawn.
Inside, crates were stacked high, marked with the same symbol from the explosion.
Luca swore under his breath. "They're everywhere."
Damian pried open a crate. Inside—cash, weapons, and documents stamped with the Moretti seal.
"They're using my name," Damian said coldly.
A voice echoed from the shadows. "Because your name opens doors."
Damian turned. Vincenzo D'Amato stepped out, hands raised, a faint smile on his lips.
"Don't," Damian warned.
"I didn't betray you," D'Amato said. "I was forced. They have my family."
"Who?"
"The Circle. They said if I didn't cooperate, they'd send me pieces of my son."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Where are they?"
D'Amato hesitated. "You can't fight them alone."
"I'm not asking for advice."
D'Amato sighed. "There's a meeting tomorrow night. The old opera house. That's where they decide who lives and who dies."
Damian lowered his gun. "Then I'll be there."