The frost had not melted by morning. The Moretti estate stood under a pale sky, its marble walls gleaming like bone. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Every corridor whispered of suspicion.
Damian hadn't slept. He had spent the night reviewing security footage, cross-checking names, and calling in favors from men who owed him their lives. Nothing made sense.
Ricci was dead, Matteo was in chains, and yet the network that had moved against him was still breathing.
He stood in his office, staring at the map spread across his desk. Red pins marked his routes, his warehouses, his safe houses. One by one, they were being compromised.
Luca entered quietly. "We found the missing guard."
"Alive?"
"Barely." Luca placed a bloodstained badge on the desk. "He was dumped near the docks. Said someone inside gave his patrol schedule away."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Inside."
Luca nodded. "He didn't see who."
Damian turned to the window. The morning light was cold, unforgiving. "Double the guards. No one moves without my word."
Luca hesitated. "And Matteo?"
"Keep him breathing. For now."
When Luca left, Damian poured himself a glass of whiskey. The burn steadied him. He needed clarity, not rage. But clarity was a luxury he hadn't had in weeks.
A soft knock broke the silence. Alessia stepped in, wrapped in a cream shawl, her face pale but composed.
"You haven't eaten," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"You can't fight ghosts on an empty stomach."
He looked at her, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips. "You think they're ghosts?"
"I think they're men who bleed like anyone else," she said. "But you're letting them live rent-free in your mind."
Her calmness disarmed him. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders eased.
Then his phone buzzed. A message. No name. Just a single line:
You're looking in the wrong direction.
Damian's blood ran cold.
He looked up at Alessia. "Stay inside. Don't open the door for anyone."
"Damian—"
"Promise me."
She nodded, though confusion clouded her eyes.
He left the room, his mind already racing. Whoever was behind this wasn't just attacking his empire—they were inside it.
And they were watching.
The docks smelled of salt and rust. Damian's car rolled to a stop beside a row of abandoned containers. The sea wind cut through his coat, but he didn't care.
Luca waited near the water, speaking with two of their men. When he saw Damian, he gestured toward a tarp-covered shape on the ground.
"The guard?" Damian asked.
Luca nodded. "Name's Pietro. He's barely conscious."
Damian crouched beside the man. Pietro's face was swollen, his lips cracked. "Who did this?"
Pietro coughed, blood flecking his chin. "Didn't see… face. But… voice…"
"What about it?"
"Familiar."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "Whose?"
Pietro's head lolled. "Sounded like… Enzo."
Luca stiffened. "Enzo? He's been with us ten years."
Damian stood slowly. "Then he knows everything."
They found Enzo's car abandoned near the old shipyard. Inside, a burner phone.
One message sent hours earlier: It's done. He suspects nothing.
Damian's pulse quickened. "Trace it."
Luca's men worked fast, but the signal was already dead.
Damian stared out at the gray horizon. "He's not running. He's waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Luca asked.
"For me to make a mistake".