Chapter 14 - The Silver LocketThe loft was deathly quiet. The afternoon sun still streamed through the massive steel-frame windows, casting long, golden bars across the hardwood floor where Viktor’s blood had dried months ago.

On the center of the pristine white marble kitchen island sat a small, black velvet jeweler's box.

I stepped forward cautiously, sweeping my gun barrel across every shadowy corner of the studio before lowering my guard. I approached the island and flipped open the velvet lid.

Inside lay an antique, heavy silver locket engraved with my mother's initials—E.M.—surrounded by a delicate filigree of silver roses. Next to it rested a small digital display wired to a battery pack, its red LED numbers ticking down relentlessly: 00:04:12... 00:04:11...

It wasn't a bomb. It was a digital countdown linked to a satellite feed.

"What is that?" Naomi whispered, walking up beside me and peering down at the flashing numbers.

"It's not a detonator," I muttered, studying the flashing green light blinking beside the LED screen. "It's a broadcast timer. Whoever broke in didn't want to blow up the loft... they wanted to activate a secure channel."

Suddenly, the digital display beeped sharply. The numbers froze at 00:00:00, and the screen flickered to life, projecting a holographic video feed directly onto the white brick wall above the kitchen counter.

The image cleared, revealing a spacious, dimly lit boardroom overlooking the Milan skyline. Sitting at the head of a massive mahogany table was a man I hadn't seen in ten years—an old-world patriarch of the Italian syndicate whom everyone believed had died in a private jet crash over the Alps.

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The heavy oak door of the master suite swung wider, letting out a sharp...

The rain in the lower district did not fall; it drifted like smoke, slic...

The word mother hung in the sterile terminal air like a frozen dagger.

Don Salvatore Moretti.

My uncle.