The room was nothing like the gritty safehouses or opulent estates Giovanni was used to. This was a boardroom, all cool, soundproofed silence, polished steel, and a view of Seoul’s skyline that felt less like a vista and more like a threat. Power didn’t always scream. Sometimes, it just watched.

Katerina stood at the window, her posture a study in coiled tension. The ghost of Minho’s blade still seemed to linger at her throat, but her eyes were alive with a familiar, venomous fire. ...