At 3:00 a.m., Mafia boss Luca Moretti found his maid Elena washing the same plate over and over.

By 5:00 a.m., the dawn had not yet broken, but the mansion was already alive with silent, deadly preparation.

Luca had left Elena sleeping on his bed, exhausted by terror and grief, covered by his heavy wool blanket. He had posted two of his most trusted personal guards at the bedroom door with explicit orders: *If anyone attempts to turn the handle without my direct command, put two bullets through their forehead.*

Downstairs in Luca’s private study, the air was thick with tension. Marco was pacing the Persian rug, clutching a tablet displaying security logs.

"You were right," Marco said as soon as Luca stepped inside and shut the double doors. "Security camera four caught a vehicle leaving the service gate at 11:45 p.m. A black Mercedes S-Class. The plates belong to Don Franco's private detail."

Luca walked over to the mahogany bar, poured himself three fingers of neat bourbon, and drank it in one long, searing swallow.

"He’s dirty, Marco," Luca said. "He’s been dirty since the day Arturo Bellandi died."

Marco stopped pacing. His face hardened. "Franco? He was your father's oldest lieutenant. He bled in the trenches in the nineties!"

"He also watched my father die and assumed he would be handed the crown," Luca said coldly. "When the Commission appointed me instead, Franco smiled, kissed my ring, and began sharpening his knife. He orchestrated the Bellandi hit five years ago to steal the Bellandi vault, pinned the chaos on our family, and now he’s cornered Arturo’s daughter under my own roof."

Marco swore violently under his breath. "What do we do? If we hit Franco without Commission approval, it looks like internal mutiny. The other four families will back Franco to weaken your seat."

"The Commission only cares about stability and profit," Luca replied, his eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. "Franco is meeting with her tonight. He expects her to deliver the cipher for thirty million in untraceable bonds."

"Does she actually have it?"

"It doesn't matter," Luca said, setting the crystal glass down on the desk with a sharp *clack*. "Because she isn't meeting him alone. We are going to feed Franco enough rope to hang himself in front of the entire underworld."

Suddenly, a sharp knock rattled the study door.

Marco drew his weapon immediately, stepping to the side of the entrance. Luca remained still, his hand resting casually near the edge of his desk where an engraved Beretta was mounted underneath.

"Speak," Luca called out.

The door opened an inch. It was Enzo, the head of the perimeter guard.

"Boss," Enzo said, his voice urgent. "We’ve got a problem. Franco’s convoy just rolled through the front iron gates. Three black SUVs. He says he’s here for an emergency council meeting regarding an external threat."

Luca and Marco exchanged a swift, lethal glance.

"He knows," Marco whispered. "He knows Elena didn't run, and he suspects she spoke to you."

"Let him in," Luca commanded Enzo smoothly. "Escort him to the grand parlor. Offer him coffee. Tell him I am dressing and will join him in ten minutes."

"Understood, Don Luca." Enzo slipped away.

Luca turned to Marco. "Go up to my quarters. Bring Elena down through the private service elevator to the armory. If Franco brought a hit squad, this estate turns into a slaughterhouse in twenty minutes."

"Luca, let me take the shot right now," Marco urged. "We ambush him in the foyer. We end it."