The drive back from the monastery was silent. The rain had stopped, but the storm still lingered in the air, heavy and electric.
Damian's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, the crimson mask lying on the passenger seat beside him. Every mile between him and the city felt like a descent into something darker.
By the time he reached the estate, dawn had broken fully. The gates opened without a word, guards stepping aside as the car rolled through. Luca was waiting in the courtyard, his expression tight with worry.
"You're bleeding," he said as Damian stepped out.
"It's not mine," Damian replied, brushing past him.
Luca followed. "Rocco?"
"Dead."
"And Salvatore?"
Damian paused at the door. "Alive. For now."
Inside, the house was tense. The men spoke in whispers, their eyes following Damian as he crossed the hall.
Alessia stood at the top of the staircase, her hair loose, her face pale.
"What happened?" she asked.
Damian looked up at her, his voice low. "The Circle isn't led by ghosts. It's led by my father's friend.
"Salvatore?"
He nodded once. "He's the one who betrayed him. The one who's been rebuilding the circle from the ashes."
Alessia descended the stairs slowly. "Then this isn't just revenge anymore."
"No," Damian said. "It's legacy."
He walked into the study, the crimson mask still in his hand. He set it on the desk beside the map, its cracked surface catching the morning light. Luca closed the door behind them.
"What's the plan?" Luca asked.
Damian stared at the mask for a long moment before answering. "We stop reacting. We start hunting."
Matteo entered quietly, his face drawn but determined. "I traced the shipments from the monastery. They lead to a warehouse outside Palermo. It's not just weapons—they're moving people. Recruits."
Luca frowned. "You're saying The Circle's building an army?"
Matteo nodded. "And they're using your father's old routes to do it."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Then we burn every route they touch."
He turned to Luca. "Get the men ready. No insignias, no noise. We move at night."
Luca hesitated. "And Salvatore?"
Damian's eyes darkened. "He's mine."
The room fell silent. Outside, the wind picked up again, rattling the windows.
Alessia stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "If you go after him, he'll come for you first."
"He already has," Damian said. "He just doesn't know what he started."
He looked at Matteo. "You said they're recruiting. Who's leading the operation?"
Matteo hesitated. "A woman. They call her La Serpe. She used to work for your father before she disappeared. Now she answers to Salvatore."
Damian's expression hardened. "Then she's the key."
He picked up the mask, turning it over in his hand. "Every empire falls from within.
Salvatore taught me that. Now I'll teach it to him."
Luca nodded. "We'll be ready."
As the men dispersed to prepare, Damian stood alone in the study. The rain had stopped, but thunder still rolled faintly in the distance. He looked out the window toward the horizon, where the monastery's silhouette was barely visible through the mist.
His father's voice echoed in his memory—steady, cold, unyielding.
"You'll have to be colder than me, Damian. Or you'll die like me."
Damian closed his eyes, the weight of the mask heavy in his hand.
"Not this time," he whispered.
The Circle had drawn its lines. The war had a face again.
And Damian Moretti was done running from it.