The sky above Palermo was a canvas of gray fire, clouds twisting in restless motion as if mirroring the tension that had settled deep within the DeLuca estate. Every corridor whispered with unease. Every servant moved cautiously, aware that something unseen was brewing, a storm that no one dared to name aloud.
Aria stood by the grand piano in the drawing room, her hands resting lightly on the keys without pressing them. The silence felt too heavy to break with music. Behind her, the faint murmur of voices drifted from the study, Luca and his lieutenants arguing again.
They had been arguing for hours.
