Chapter 1: The Silver Serpent

Dominic Rossi was the ghost of the Chicago Outfit—a ruthless, aging Underboss who had been the primary architect of the Moretti massacre twenty years ago. He had spent two decades searching for Vincente Moretti’s hidden offshore accounts, using Richard Dalton as a puppet manager.

The moment the announcement went out over the news feeds, Rossi knew the last piece of the Moretti puzzle was standing in the Grand Hotel.

BANG.

The heavy double doors at the side entrance of the ballroom were thrown open with violent force.

Four men in heavy tactical coats pulled automatic pistols from beneath their jackets, firing three warning shots directly into the high painted ceiling.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Plaster rained down on the marble floor. The ballroom erupted into mass hysteria. Guests screamed, knocking over tables and glass flutes as they scrambled frantically toward the main emergency exits.

“EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR!” one of the gunmen roared, swinging his weapon across the room.

From behind the gunmen stepped Dominic Rossi—a fifty-year-old man with cold blue eyes, a scarred neck, and a heavy tailored coat. He held a silver revolver in his hand, his eyes scanning the chaotic room until they landed on Mireia and Darius.

“Darius Villano,” Rossi drawled, his voice rough and raspy from years of cigar smoke. “I heard you found a new flower to wear on your lapel tonight.”

Darius didn't flinch. He stepped fully in front of Mireia, shielding her with his broad body. Beside him, Marco and four Villano security guards pulled their sidearms, taking tactical positions behind a overturned mahogany table.

“You’re far from Chicago, Dominic,” Darius said coolly, his voice echoing over the screams of the fleeing crowd. “And you’re trespassing on my territory.”

“I don't give a damn about your territory, Villano!” Rossi barked, pointing his revolver directly at Darius. “That girl’s mother stole sixty million dollars in bearer bonds when she fled Chicago twenty years ago! That money belongs to the Outfit! Hand the girl over, and you walk out of here alive.”

Mireia stepped out from behind Darius’s shoulder, her eyes burning with fierce, cold defiance.

“My mother didn't steal anything from you, Rossi!” Mireia shouted, her voice ringing clear over the chaos. “You murdered her family and burned her home!”

Rossi laughed—a dry, horrible sound. “Ah, she has Vincente’s eyes. And she’s wearing the signet ring. Beautiful. That ring has the encryption key to the Zurich safety deposit boxes stamped into the silver band.”

Darius looked down at Mireia’s hand. The intricate crescent and flame engraving wasn't just a crest—it was a physical micro-engraved ledger key.