The number on the back of the plastic band was not a standard hospital identification code. It was a private cipher, an alphanumeric string used exclusively by the Moretti family archives for high-security asset tracking and bloodline verification.

Above ground, the Moretti mansion was a war zone. Flames licked at the Corinthian pillars of the grand entrance as private militias clashed across the courtyards. Sirens wailed in the distance, but the local police were bought and paid for; they wouldn't arrive until the slaughter was complete.

Rocco emerged from the secret elevator shaft into the grand library, his suit jacket torn, a shallow graze bleeding on his left shoulder. He moved like a ghost through the burning wreckage of his home.

Sitting in Rocco’s massive leather armchair by the grand fireplace was an old man with silver hair combed straight back, wearing a pristine white suit that looked completely untouched by the carnage outside. In his hand, he held a crystal glass of amber scotch.

"It’s been a long time, nephew," Uncle Marco said smoothly, not even turning his head as Rocco entered. "You built an empire on systems, Rocco. But you forgot the most fundamental rule of our bloodline: blood always rots from the head down."

"You sent men to kill a newborn child," Rocco said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he raised his Beretta, locking the laser sight dead on Marco’s chest. "You broke the sacred blood pact."

Marco chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Pacts? Rocco, the world has changed. The Syndicate doesn't want an isolationist king who trusts algorithms over alliances. Valentina offered us the entire eastern seaboard trade routes. All she asked in return was a clean slate—and the removal of your illegitimate firstborn so her future children would inherit the crown uncontested."

"She told me the child died," Rocco said, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger.

"She thought he did," Marco smiled coldly. "She paid a corrupt obstetrics nurse to dispose of him in the incinerator wing. But the nurse—lazy creature that she is—just tossed the bundle into the nearest exterior service bin by the kitchen to save herself a walk."

Marco turned his chair around, his eyes locking onto Rocco with feral hatred. "And now, that same mistake has brought your entire house down. Go ahead, shoot me. My strike teams have already intercepted the boat house exit. Your little maid and your precious heir are currently swimming in freezing water."