The private jet sliced through the cloud-heavy sky, an immaculate bubble of wealth and silence over the churning chaos that had consumed Alessia's life.
Luca sat across from her, the laptop screen casting a pale, cold light on his face.
He wasn't watching a movie or playing a game; he was deep in the digital labyrinth of his Morano network, a one-man war room in the sky.
"The location for the contact is set," he said, not looking up. "A former Franciscan monastery on the outskirts of Verona now a private museum for esoteric artifacts, Discreet, secured. The man is named Baldassare. He's an expert in relocating and, if necessary, destroying difficult objects."
Alessia watched the meticulous control in his hands, the way his jaw was set.
He was trying to reduce a spiritual plague—a thousand-year-old pact with the Blood Moon—to a simple item retrieval mission.
