The villa’s dining hall had been gutted of decadence. No chandeliers. No polished silver. No servants. Just a long black table, stripped to bone and shadow, and the people Alessandro had summoned to it.

Capos with shoulders like granite. Hackers with glowing screens spitting maps and code. Lawyers whispering about “legal containment.”

Jeremy leaned back in his chair like a tourist, arms folded. “Never been to a mafia meeting before. Kinda disappointing. No wine. No finger guns. Zero ...