pte

hrapnel an

rms crossed, fork in hand, eyes obscured. He was anticipating her slipping, lying, and confessing. Across Naples, the Valente family was bracing for something. A shipment had gone missing en route from Tangier, and the whispers blamed a mole.

tock, Bella." No more snafus. Before noon, Isabelle poured a glass of grappa and broke the phone with

e, Emilio was starting to notice the tension. "Does he bother you?" One evening, as they gazed out over the moonlit bay, he asked. Isabelle's answer came without hesitation. "He's loyal. Ho

n factored into the mission. It was supposed to be over with family. Failure, however, was not just fatal. It was intimate. The fallout had begun. Additionally, Isabelle no longer recognized which ruin she was fleeing-the one owned by her agency, Emilio's, or her own. In the dazzling skyline of New Harbor, Marcus Vidal is more than a name-he is a presence. Marcus draw

to a prestigious college. He was advising senators by the age of thirty. By forty, he controlled the financial lifelines of both political campaigns and na

iations, he plays three moves ahead. However, a mind that never stops thinking, always calculating, and always protecting something lies behind the cl

ons. He is a philanthropist and kingmaker to the outside world, but to those in the shadows, he is "The Architect," the power behind both lawful and unruly empires. This duality allows Marcus unmatched influence. He owes favors to senat

o protect them, whether they are an old friend, a vulnerable protégé, or a lover who once saw through his armor, he will go

p is carefully curated. The line between ally and enemy is always shifting. He is terrified of chaos-unpr

becoming bolder, the politicians more desperate. Maintaining order is becoming increasingly difficult. Marcus is aware that the walls of secrecy he has built are beginning to shake, and if e

first domino fell. It was a pristine event-jazz music, candlelit tables, the scent of aged whiskey and ambition thick i

en his pho

icate leader Dante Grillo. "Meet me. Urgent," the message rea

waiting car, and disappeared in

hour later under the cracked lights of a condemned warehouse. "It's done,

eant to arm a faction in the East End in exchange for political silence on a zoning bill. The kind of transaction

't," Grillo snapped. "Someone traced them. Someone within. The realization hit like a gunshot: Marcus's empire had been brea

g out in the distance. This wasn't just a threat

oncrete evidence-but it was close. enough to stoke conspiracy theories in political circles and incite underworld paranoia. At the Capitol, Senator Thorpe's tone turned sharp. Sh

or was found dead in a car outside the city, an apparent suicide, though Marcus suspected

might talk. But control was slipping. One of the shell companies he used for

me-were now converging into chaos. He was no longer the conductor o

ng, a trap. Even those closest to him-his driver, hi

t his private estate, handwrit

We know your sleeping

Additionally, for the first time in two decades, he lacked a strateg