Rain soaked Carrick’s coat, seeping through to his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Across from him, Alessia De Luca stood beneath the arch of the cathedral, her hair dark with rain, her eyes burning with purpose. Around them, the city held its breath. For a moment, nothing existed but the silence and the war between their gazes. “Call them off,” Carrick said, nodding toward the rooftops. “Or what?” Alessia’s voice was sharp and steady. “You’ll kill me here and now? Go ahead. But you’ll die with me. You know that.” Carrick didn’t lower his gun. “Then why are we talking?” “Because you’re tired,” she said. “And deep down, you know this city deserves better than you. Better than a butcher king holding onto a throne built on corpses.” He stepped forward. “Better like Moretti? Like your sister? They talked of peace while hiding knives behind their backs.” “And you brought a flamethrower,” Alessia snapped. The wind picked up, carrying the sounds of distant sirens. Carrick glanced to

The rain returned with a vengeance, sweeping across the city like a curtain of ice. The streets shimmered with oil-slick reflections, broken only by the flashing red-and-blue of distant patrol cars. Somewhere in the city’s pulsing heart, a war was being written in the blood of its kings.Inside a dimly lit jazz bar in Eastwood...neutral ground for the old families...Arturo Salvi sat alone at a corner booth, a heavy glass of bourbon in hand. The music was low, slow, melancholic. A trumpet cried the blues into the smoky air.Across from him, Alessia De Luca leaned back in her seat, the flickering candlelight dancing against her sharp features. Her usual steel was hidden beneath a composed smile, but her eyes...those dangerous, storm-churning eyes...never stopped calculating."You’ve heard the latest?" Arturo asked, breaking the silence.“About the ambush in Midtown?" Alessia replied. "Carrick lost four men. One of them was his courier."Arturo nodded. "You’re bleeding him. Slowly. Preci

The Gale estate was quiet...too quiet. It was the kind of stillness that blanketed a place right before a storm broke, before sirens screamed and bullets ripped through the night.Inside the war room, Carrick leaned over the city map, his palms pressed flat against the table. The flickering overhead light cast deep shadows across his face, sharpening the grim lines carved by sleepless nights and too many bodies.Victor entered without knocking. His shirt was soaked from the rain, his brow furrowed.“They hit the convoy outside Westbridge,” he said, tossing a blood-stained envelope onto the table. “Four of our men dead. One of the trucks burned. They left this behind.”Carrick didn’t move at first. Then slowly, he picked up the envelope. Inside was a single black feather and a slip of parchment. On it, scrawled in crimson ink: ‘For Elena. For every name you buried beneath your throne.’His jaw tightened. “Alessia.”Victor nodded grimly. “She’s escalating. These aren’t just retaliatory

The warehouse in Southpoint was supposed to be a routine supply drop. Neutral ground. Nothing more than a checkpoint to move arms and launder money through the docks. But when Enzo pushed open the side door and found three of Carrick's men hanging from the rafters, blood still dripping from their slashed throats, he knew neutrality was dead."Holy shit," muttered Luca, the youngest of the crew. He backed away, eyes wide, stomach already heaving. Enzo pulled his gun immediately, sweeping the room."Clear it. Now."They moved fast, years of training kicking in. But the place was empty. No shooters. No threats. Just three corpses strung up like warnings, their chests carved with the mark of the De Luca family...a dagger through a serpent.Enzo crouched by the nearest body, jaw clenched. "They were tortured. This wasn't just a hit. It was a message.""Think it's Alessia?" Luca asked, his voice barely above a whisper.Enzo stood slowly. "She's not playing around anymore."At the Gale estat

Carrick Gale stood before the towering glass window of the penthouse war room, his silhouette sharp against the bruised skyline. Nightfall draped the city in a veil of steel and sorrow, the streets below lit by flickering orange glows and distant sirens. He hadn't moved in over an hour.Victor entered quietly, coat damp with rain, boots leaving a trail of water across the marble. "They hit the Raven's Gate warehouse," he said. "Three dead. Two more missing. One of them was Nico."Carrick didn’t flinch. "And the shipments?""Gone. Up in smoke. Alessia’s people left a message painted across the wall."Victor tossed a folded photo onto the table. Scrawled in red were the words: "Not vengeance. Balance."Carrick turned from the window at last. "How many hits this week?""Five. Small-time dealers are flipping. Our suppliers in the Eastside are scared. She's bleeding us slow."Enzo burst through the door next, phone still in hand. "Boss, we’ve got a bigger problem. Arturo Salvi’s name is ba