Vecchio's voice. When she suddenly heard a sharp knocking at her door just before dawn, Serena felt like she had not slept a wink. A guard was standing, immediately expressionless. "Mr. Moretti requires you," he added, "strategy room." Destination change did not escape her. Not in her suite. Not in the server room. Strategy room. He was calling her to the heart of the command structure. In her simple black trousers and silk blouse, now her usual outfit, she trailed the guard, her mind a fortress of feigned calm around the storm of secrets she carried.

The war room was an incredible hybrid of old-world gravitas and futuristic technology. The walls were panelled in dark, polished mahogany, and embedded into them were massive, interactive screens that showed satellite maps, streamed financial data, and live feeds from security. In the centre of the room was a long, imposing table, around which the most powerful figures from the Moretti empire were seated. Damiano presided over it, a king over his council, distinctly radiating an aura of ultimate authority. To his right, Leo sat solid and watchful and silent. Directly across from him was a woman with intelligent features, sharp and certainly with eyes no less keen than Leo's, her dark hair neatly tied in a severe, elegant bun. At the far end of the table was a large, older man, whose face was old scars, his knuckles thick and broken. He looked less like a council member and more like a boulder that had been given a suit.

"Good morning, Serena," she heard him say as she stepped into the hall and immediately brought everyone's attention in the hall to her. The silence was heavy with scrutiny. "Everyone," he continued, his sweeping gaze over his lieutenants, "this is Serena Vale. Her skills were instrumental in unmasking our ghost. She will be assisting us directly in the hunt for Vecchio." Severe-bun woman arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, half skeptical, half intrigued, while the scarred man just continued to stare, his distrust a palpable force. Leo's mask. "Serena," Damiano gestured toward the woman, "this is Isabella Rossi, our chief financial officer." He then nodded to the scarred man. "And Riccardo Gallo, who handles our... personnel matters." Isabella was Leo's sister, as Serena figured out by the shared intensity of their gazes, and Riccardo was clearly the butcher, the enforcer.

    "Leo, report," Damiano commanded. Leo's voice was crisp. "Vecchio's three known residences are empty. He cleared out his primary home hours before the trap was sprung. He knew we were closing in. He's in the wind, but he's still in the city. We've sealed the ports and private airfields." Neat and exact in his tone, Isabella then spoke, "His domestic assets are locked; however, he has many layers of offshore accounts which are... difficult. He's been planning this for a very long time." Damiano then turned his silver gaze on Serena. "His digital ghost. Where is it?" All eyes were on her. This was the initiation rite. "He's dark," Serena said, her voice steady and confident. "He's abandoned his old networks. But he's not silent. He's a creature of control; he'll need to re-establish contact with his backers, the Bratva. To do that, he'll need a new, secure platform." "And how would we find such a platform?" Isabella challenged, her tone sharp, testing. "There are thousands of dark-net channels." "We don't hunt the channels, we hunt the architecture," Serena countered smoothly, meeting Isabella's gaze. "He's arrogant. He'll use a protocol he trusts, one with a cryptographic signature I can build a search algorithm for. We can't find him, but we can build a listening post and wait for his whisper." A flicker of respect showed in Isabella's eyes. Riccardo just grunted, unimpressed.

"Do it," commanded Damiano. "Leo, give her everything she needs. For you, Riccardo, I want you to learn who Vecchio's confirmed associates are, then visit each one with the reminders associated with disloyalty. Izzy, pursue him with the chokehold on his finances, and dismissed." As they rose from the council to carry out what one would call their grim business, the voice of Damiano brought Serena to a stop. "A moment." As soon as they were alone, the atmosphere in the room shifted, cold professionalism now replaced with the familiar, intense focus he only reserves for her. "You handle yourself well," he observed, a faint smirk on his lips. "Even Riccardo looked like he was considering not killing you." He walked over to a secure cabinet and retrieved a small, slim device, holding it out to her. It was a burner phone, but far more advanced. "Vecchio is arrogant, as you said," Damiano continued. "He believes he still has loyalists inside these walls. He will try to contact someone here to get a message to me—a threat, a negotiation. This device is tied into our internal comms. It will flag any message containing a specific keyword protocol he and I once designed. If he reaches out, you will be the first to know." The device was placed in her hands. It was cool and heavy. "Trace the signal. But do not intercept the message. I want to know what the ghost has to say." Serena stared at the device in her palm. A few days ago, she was his prisoner. And now, he was making her his spymaster, handing her the keys to his most private intelligence. She was being trusted with the hunt for the man whose actions had led her here, a man whose secrets were still locked away on her own laptop. The irony was a physical weight, a dangerous and intoxicating burden.