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Chapter 4 - The Trap Closes

"You're insane," Lena whispered, though the heavy weight of the journal in her bag felt heavier than ever. "You're trying to spin some mafia fairy tale to get your hands on my family's legacy."

"Ask yourself why your grandmother changed her last name when she came to America," Adrien countered smoothly, stepping past her to pour two glasses of amber scotch from a crystal decanter. He held one out. She ignored it. "Ask yourself why she taught you to measure flour by weight down to the single gram, using a code system that doesn't correspond to any known baking standard."

Lena swallowed hard. Clara had always insisted on exactness, treating every batch of dough like a military encryption protocol.

Before Adrien could elaborate, a heavy, muffled explosion echoed from the front of the estate.

The room plunged into darkness as the mansion’s primary power grid failed, instantly replaced by the low, angry hum of the emergency generators. Red backup lights flickered to life along the baseboards, casting long, bloody shadows across the study.

Adrien didn’t flinch. In a fraction of a second, he crossed the room, shoving Lena behind a heavy oak desk and drawing a sleek, suppressed pistol from a holster beneath his arm.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice dropping into a deadly, gravelly whisper. "They found us faster than I anticipated."

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"Who?" Lena hissed, crouching behind the mahogany barrier.

"The faction within my own council that wants the Moretti empire brought to its knees—starting with the secrets your grandmother took to her grave."

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