The first thing Allegra Di Sante noticed was the silence. Not the kind that followed a meeting or a late night at the casino. This silence was wrong.
Heavy.
Like the air itself was holding its breath.
Her heels echoed down the marble hallway of the Di Sante mansion as she approached the office doors. Two guards stood outside. Neither looked at her.
That was the second thing that felt wrong. They always looked at her.
"Open it," she said.
The men hesitated just for a second. Then one of them pushed the door open.
The smell hit her first.
Gunpowder.
And blood.
The office looked almost untouched at first glance—dark wood shelves, the massive desk, the city lights of Las Vegas glowing through the tall windows.
Then she saw him.
Her father lay beside the desk. A crimson stain spread across his white shirt, soaking into the Persian rug beneath him.
For a moment Allegra couldn't move.
The man who had ruled Las Vegas for thirty years—the man politicians feared and criminals respected—was lying on the floor like just another body.
Around the room stood the inner circle of the Di Sante empire.
Her uncle Matteo.
Rafael Cruz.
Three caporegime.
No one spoke.
They were all watching her.
Waiting.
Allegra stepped forward slowly. Each step felt strangely calm.
Too calm.
She stopped beside the body and looked down.
Her father's eyes were half open.
Empty.
She had always known this day would come just not like this.
"Who found him?" she asked quietly.
Rafael cleared his throat.
"One of the night guards."
"Where is he?"
"He's being questioned."
Allegra's gaze drifted across the office.
The shattered whiskey glass.
The overturned chair.
The safe.
Her eyes narrowed.
The safe door hung open.
Her father never left it open.
Never.
"Was anything taken?" she asked.
No one answered.
Matteo finally stepped closer.
"Allegra… this is not the time—"
"Don't."
Her voice was quiet.
But it cut through the room like a blade.
Matteo stopped speaking.
Allegra crouched beside the body.
Her father's hand rested near the desk as if he had tried to reach something.
Or someone.
She stood slowly.
When she spoke again, her voice carried the same cold authority her father had once used.
"Lock the doors."
The guards moved immediately.
Matteo frowned.
"Allegra, think about what you're doing. These are family."
She turned toward him.
"That," she said softly, "is exactly why no one leaves."
A ripple of tension spread through the room.
Somewhere behind her the office door opened again.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Confident.
Allegra turned.
A tall man in a black suit stepped inside.
She had never seen him before.
He looked around the room once—at the blood, the body, the silent men.
Then his eyes settled on her.
Cold.
Calculating.
And completely unafraid.
He nodded toward the shattered security panel beside the door.
"You need better security."
For the first time that night, Allegra felt something other than grief.
Trouble had just walked into the room.