Underground House — Alaska, Midnight
The dimly lit underground villa nestled beneath a crumbling old winery on the outskirts of Rome wasn't on any map. It was silent save for the low hum of electricity flowing through the antique chandelier above the marble table. The scent of expensive tobacco clung to the air like the past did to the walls—thick, suffocating, and hard to ignore.
Vittorio De Luca sat comfortably on his vintage leather armchair, an untouched glass of brandy resting near his fingers. The room was lavishly decorated, but its luxury was as cold as his heart—gold and blood had built this empire. And he would kill again to protect it.
The large steel door creaked open. A shadowed figure stepped in and placed a thick, yellow envelope on the table before him. Without speaking, the man bowed his head and turned away.
Vittorio set down the brandy and slowly peeled the envelope open. The first image that caught his eye made his jaw clench.
It was a child.
