That day Chicago was dark and heavy with gray clouds. It was a miserable, gloomy afternoon, the kind where it feels like night was already falling.

Serafina sat on the very edge of the terrace of a towering building, her legs dangling over the side into the empty, terrifying void. The wind up here was violent, whipping her dark hair sharply across her face, but she did not flinch. Below her, the bustling city streets and cars looked like tiny, insignificant dots. A single slip would mean falling to her death, but her body remained perfectly still.

In her right hand, she held a burning cigarette between her trembling fingers. She lifted it to her lips and inhaled deeply, letting the harsh smoke burn her throat and calm the frantic racing of her heart.

She leaned back, resting her weight on a left hand that was completely coated in thick crimson blood. The blood was starting to dry on her skin, feeling tight and uncomfortable, but a few fresh drops still managed to drip from her fingertips, falling into the massive crimson pool below.

It was not her own blood.

It belonged to the man lying a few feet behind her on the concrete floor. He was dead, stretched out on his back in a large, spreading puddle of dark red. His expensive tailored suit was ruined, soaked through with the evidence of his final moments. His eyes stared blankly up at the sky—wide and frozen, yet carrying a strange sense of calmness.

Tears flowed steadily from Serafina's eyes, running down her pale, cold cheeks. She was crying, but she was not sobbing or trembling out of fear. Her breathing was perfectly even, and her expression was completely blank. Her mind was entirely under control, even if her body couldn't help but weep.

Looking down at her bloody hand, a cold, hollow void opened up in her chest. He was gone, the world was spinning out of control, and she was left standing in the wreckage.

Suddenly, a loud, heavy thud echoed across the terrace, vibrating through the concrete beneath her.

Thump.

The thick steel gate leading to the roof shook violently.

Thump.

Serafina did not even turn around to look. She knew exactly who was on the other side – Men she had known since childhood, soldiers who had sworn oaths to protect her, now banging on the door like rabid wolves.

The syndicate had sent their strongest enforcers to break down the door she had locked. They were hitting the metal frame with a rhythmic, heavy force that echoed like a countdown. The metal was already starting to bend and warp under the pressure.

They didn't want the truth. They had already judged her, sentenced her, and now they wanted blood for blood.

They wanted to get to her.

Thump.

A sudden, strong gust of wind swept across the roof. It caught the cigarette between Serafina's fingers and ripped it from her hand before she could take one last drag. She watched the small, glowing ember tumble into the empty space beneath her, spinning helplessly until it vanished from sight. It felt a lot like her own life—completely out of her own hands, drifting into the dark.

Before the silence could return, a loud, roaring sound filled the air, deafening and close.

A police helicopter dropped down from the heavy clouds, hovering just twenty feet above the terrace. A powerful white searchlight snapped on, blinding the roof in a harsh light.

The wind from the helicopter's spinning blades was intense, kicking up dust, gravel, and debris everywhere, stinging Serafina's skin. Heavily armed police officers stood at the open doors of the aircraft, aiming their rifles straight at her chest, their lasers cutting through the gloom.

"Serafina!" a loud voice boomed through the helicopter's megaphone, crackling with authority. "Step away from the ledge! Put your hands up and surrender! You have nowhere left to run!"

Serafina squinted against the bright, blinding searchlight, her tear-stained eyes stinging. She looked at the police officers and the deadly barrels of their guns. Then she turned her head slightly to look back at the steel gate, which was about to burst open from the heavy, relentless blows. In a matter of seconds, her family would be through that door, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill her themselves. She was completely trapped between the police in the air and her family on the ground.

Anyone else would have fallen to their knees and begged for mercy. But Serafina didn't know how to beg.

Instead of panicking, she let out a slow, shaky breath and reached down with her clean right hand.

Underneath her long, dark trench coat, she was already wearing a heavy, military-grade climbing harness. It was wrapped tightly around her waist and thighs. With a quick, loud click, her steady fingers snapped a heavy steel carabiner onto a strong, high-tension cable. The cable ran discreetly along the side of the building's main architectural pillar, anchored deeply into the bedrock below.

She looked up at the helicopter, making direct eye contact with the lead sniper, and then looked back at the cracking, breaking door.

A small, faint smile appeared on her lips. The police thought they had caught a broken murder suspect, and her family thought they had cornered their rebellious new heir. They all thought they owned her destiny.

They were both wrong.

"Goodbye," she whispered into the howling wind.

Serafina did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. She did not look down at the dizzying drop below. She simply leaned back, pushed off the concrete ledge with the soles of her boots, and jumped backward off the 140-story building.

The wind rushed past her ears in a deafening, roaring scream. The roof, the helicopter, the flashing red and blue lights, and the shouting police officers instantly shot upward, disappearing from view as she plummeted rapidly down into the freezing gray fog.

Part of her desperately wanted to stay, to mourn, to say a proper goodbye to the man whose life now stained her hands. But there was no time for grief. If she stayed, the truth would die with her.

The headline on the front page of the morning newspaper was printed in massive, bold black ink that seemed to stain the paper: MAFIA KING SALVATORE MORETTI FOUND DEAD.

Below the text was a grainy, high-contrast photograph of the 140-story skyscraper where the body had been discovered, its jagged silhouette cutting into the Chicago skyline.

Simone stared at the paper, his eyes scanning the date at the top of the page over and over again, as if the numbers might change if he looked hard enough. September 28, 2019.

He crushed and dropped the newspaper onto the heavy mahogany desk, the paper crinkling loudly in the quiet, suffocating room.

He began to pace the floor, his heavy leather boots clicking softly against the dark hardwood tiles. His chest felt incredibly tight, a heavy weight pressing down on his lungs. He kept running his palm over his thick stubble, the rough, uneven hairs scratching against his skin as he tried to process the absolute chaos of the last twelve hours. His father, the man who had ruled the Chicago underworld with an iron fist, was gone. And his sister, Serafina, was missing, presumed dead or running from the law.

Across the room, his mother, Valeria, sat on the plush velvet sofa. She wasn't wearing the traditional black of a grieving widow. Instead, she sat perfectly upright, a cup of dark espresso resting untouched on the glass table in front of her, a thin layer of skin forming over the cooling liquid. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but her face was hardened into a mask of pure anger.

"I always knew it," Valeria said, her voice sharp and brittle, cutting through the silence like a blade. "I always knew that ungrateful bastard would turn around and kill her own father. She was a snake from the moment she took her first breath."

Simone stopped pacing. He turned to face his mother, his brow furrowed deeply in disbelief. "Mamma, stop. Just stop talking like that. We don't even know what happened up on that terrace yet.” He closed his eyes for a split second, the image of his sister flashing in his mind. Serafina was ruthless, yes, but she had spent her entire life shielding Simone from the darkest parts of this family. “ The police are guessing, the media is guessing—"

"The police found her on the roof with his blood completely coating her hands, Simone!" Valeria snapped, her voice rising sharply as she stood up from the sofa. She took a step toward him, and Simone could see how badly she was trembling.

The tears flowing down her face had matted the small, loose fringes of her styled hair against her forehead, pinning the dark strands to her damp skin. Her makeup was ruined, leaving dark, messy tracks down her cheeks. "She ran! She jumped off the building into the fog like a coward! What more proof do you need to see her for what she really is?"

"I don't believe it," Simone said firmly, shaking his head. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his voice dropping into a stubborn, quiet tone. "I cannot believe Sera could ever do that. She loved Dad. More than anyone else in this family, she actually respected him. She wouldn't just slaughter him in cold blood. It doesn't make any sense."

Valeria let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded more like a choke. "You are blind. You have always been completely blind when it comes to your sister. She wanted the throne, Simone. She saw herself as the rightful new heir, and she took the quickest, bloodiest path she could find to get it."

"She didn't need to kill him for that!" Simone yelled back, his composure finally snapping. The frustration that had been building up all night boiled over. "Dad was already preparing her to take over! He trusted her! Why would she ruin everything she ever worked for?"

"Because she is malicious! Because she has her father's twisted heart!" Valeria shouted, fresh tears spilling over her eyelids and soaking into her collar. She stepped closer to him, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, her whole body shaking with rage. "And here you are, defending the monster who murdered your father! Your own blood is lying on a cold metal slab right now, and you are standing up for his killer!"

"I'm defending the truth, Mamma! I'm trying to think logically!"

"No, you are being an ungrateful son!" Valeria screamed, sobbing openly now, her shoulders heaving under the weight of her distress.

She slapped her chest hard with her palm, right over her heart. "You should be celebrating! Venice is yours now. You should be happy to step up and accept this empire! Do you have any idea what I have sacrificed for this? The dirty deals I had to look past, the blood I had to tolerate in my own home, just to ensure this legacy stayed intact for you? I worked myself to the bone to build a secure future for this family, and you are mourning a murderer instead of taking what is yours!"

Simone stayed entirely silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it throbbed. He watched his mother break down, her manicured fingers digging into her own arms as she wept. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, to hold her through the grief of losing his father, but the awful accusations she was throwing at Serafina felt like poison in the air.

Valeria wiped her tears aggressively with the back of her hand, smearing the dark mascara even further across her face. She glared at her son with a deep, painful resentment.

"She did this to you," Valeria whispered, her voice suddenly dropping into a low, venomous hiss. "Even from whatever grave she dug for herself by jumping off that ledge, she is still doing it. She brainwashed you, Simone. She turned my own son against me, and she isn't even here to see it."

Without waiting for him to reply, Valeria turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Her heavy silk skirt rustled, and a moment later, the massive double doors slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the empty space.

The echo of the slam slowly faded, leaving Simone completely alone in the massive, quiet office. He looked back at the desk, where the stark newspaper headline seemed to stare up at him like an open, bleeding wound.

He rested his palm against the polished wood, right next to the crinkled newspaper. He was twenty years old, the empire was on the brink of a bloody war, his father was dead, and the only person he ever trusted to protect him was currently running for her life in the dark.

The rain in Venice was different from the heavy storms of Chicago. It dripped quietly from the stone eaves of the family's private estate, bleeding into the dark canals outside and turning the ancient alleyways slick and reflective. Inside the private bedroom, the atmosphere was just as heavy.

Simone looked out the arched window at the dark, rippling water. As children, he and Serafina used to steal pieces of bread from the kitchen to throw to the ducks in these very canals. Now, those same waters felt cold, hiding secrets he wasn't sure he was ready to uncover.

A firm, rhythmic knock rattled the dark oak door.

Simone didn't answer immediately. He stood before a gold-rimmed mirror, running a hand through his hair and smoothing down his casual shirt. In their world, grief was a luxury they couldn't afford. A mafia boss could show rage, and he could show cruelty, but he could never show weakness—even when pacing the floors of his own home. He took a deep breath, fixing his posture and smoothing his features until his face was a mask of cold, unbothered steel. When he was certain he looked completely composed, he spoke.

"Come in," Simone called out, his voice smooth and steady.

The door swung open, and Mateo stepped into the room. As the syndicate's consigliere, Mateo was the brain of the operation. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, his expression entirely unreadable as he carried a thick leather folder filled with paperwork.

Mateo walked over to the desk, setting the heavy folder down onto the polished surface. "The transit routes through the port are backed up," Mateo began without greeting, getting straight to business. "We have three major shipping trades pending validation, and the local unions are getting restless. They smell blood in the water after the news from Chicago."

Simone walked over, looking down at the neat rows of numbers and signatures. "Let them rumble. We tighten the grip, we don't loosen it."

Mateo looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto Simone. "The family needs a head, Simone. The captains are asking questions. With your father gone and Serafina missing... they need to know who they are answering to. Are you ready to take over the empire?"

The mention of his sister's name hung in the air like a heavy mist. Simone stared at the documents, but his mind wasn't on the shipping routes. He looked at Mateo—the man who had grown up alongside them, who knew every secret they kept.

"Let me ask you something, Mateo," Simone said softly, leaning his hands against the edge of the desk. He looked directly into the consigliere's eyes. "What do you think? Honestly. Could Sera really have done it? Could she have killed papa?"

For a moment, the professional wall around Mateo seemed to flicker. He and Serafina had been close since childhood, running through these very same Venetian streets before the business had consumed their lives. Mateo took a slow breath, his posture remaining perfectly rigid.

"I have no answer to that question, Simone," Mateo replied, his voice flat and deliberate. "And honestly, my personal feelings are completely irrelevant. Reality is the only thing that matters now."

Simone kept his eyes fixed on him, searching for a crack in the armor.

"The reality is that your father is dead," Mateo continued, his tone unwavering. "Serafina is gone. And right now, as far as the law and the streets are concerned, you are the Mafia. You are the head of this family, and I will serve you. That is my duty."

Simone let out a quiet breath, nodding slowly. He understood exactly what Mateo was trying to convey without saying it out loud: there is no room to be emotional at a time like this.

Mourning his father or defending his sister wouldn't keep a bullet out of his head. Survival meant moving forward, cold and calculating.

"Get the captains in order," Simone ordered, his voice hardening. "Tell them the transition is seamless."

"Understood," Mateo said. He left the folder on the desk and turned toward the exit.

He walked briskly across the room, but as his hand touched the brass handle of the door, his movements stopped. He stood completely still, his back facing Simone, his shoulders tense. The professional, cold demeanor seemed to slip away for a brief, heavy second.

"Be careful, Simone," Mateo said quietly, his voice dropping an octave as he stared at the wood of the door. "Everyone is out to get you right now. They want to end this family, piece by piece. If they think you're weak, they will bury you next to your father. And if they find Serafina... they won't even give her the chance to speak."

Without turning around to see Simone's reaction, Mateo pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor, leaving Simone alone with the quiet hum of the Venetian rain.