At six fifteen in the morning, sunlight had fully risen over Naples, dispersing the last wisps of mist hovering above the bay. Pharos Cesare was already awake, lying in bed for exactly two minutes out of habit, allowing his mind to fully emerge from sleep.

Once his brain had finished booting up, he rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing the control panel. The heavy blackout curtains slowly parted, and morning light from the Bay of Naples immediately poured in. This luxurious apartment with its garden stood on the hillside of Posillipo, his residence occupying the top floor with an excellent view. The bay, the harbor, and distant Mount Vesuvius were all within sight. Pharos stood before the window, his forest green eyes taking in the scenery.

Life should always have a sense of ritual.

The bedroom connected to a walk-in closet, which in turn led to a private fitness area. Pharos changed into athletic wear, turned on the large display embedded in the wall, switched to a morning news channel, then stepped onto the treadmill to begin his daily cardio routine. The screen showed local political news, and the occasional familiar face sharpened his attention as he noted their movements—quite a few of those politicians had intricate ties with the Silver Flame Society.

Fifty minutes later, Pharos finished his morning run. Despite wearing moisture-wicking clothes, he still maintained the habit of a morning shower. He turned off the news and walked into the bathroom. The entire space featured polished cement paint, matte metal, and black-framed frosted glass. The exposed pipes, industrial in style, had been carefully designed to serve as part of the décor. He turned on the faucet, and hot water cascaded from the large overhead showerhead, drenching his wheat-colored body. Steam quickly filled the shower stall.

Pharos had once opted for a minimalist pure black-and-white design, until Dorian visited for the first time and remarked that this apartment, like Pharos himself, was overly affected and lacked vitality. That comment left an imprint on Pharos's heart. A month later, he had the entire apartment renovated into an industrial-style design: rough brick wallcoverings alternated with faux fair-faced concrete walls, matte metal pipes extending across the ceiling and walls, matte ceramic tile flooring understated and unobtrusive; corners were adorned with potted plants, the warm tones of wooden and leather furniture balancing each other. It preserved the clean, hard lines he favored while adding a sense of lived-in warmth.

When Dorian visited again, those beautiful blue-gold eyes widened slightly, and a satisfied smile appeared on his sweet face. "Not bad. Now this looks like a place where people actually live."

That moment brought Pharos more pleasure than he had anticipated.

＊

At half past seven in the morning, Pharos was fully dressed. His dark chestnut short hair was styled with wax into an elite, polished look. He wore a meticulously tailored dark suit, with no accessories beyond his wristwatch. He stood at the kitchen island of his open-plan kitchen, about to tap open a messaging app on his phone to send a message, when the smart home system announced that someone was arriving via the elevator. Moments later, the doorbell rang, and the intercom screen displayed the visitor's face.

"Good morning, Young Don." The visitor's expression was respectful but not servile. The man's name was Rudy, a subordinate of his second-in-command Romo, specifically responsible for attending to Pharos's daily living affairs.

"Morning." Pharos gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to enter.

Rudy pushed open the unlocked front door and deftly assembled ready-made ingredients in the kitchen. Before long, an Italian breakfast was laid out on the island: a cup of cappuccino, a slice of bread with jam, accompanied by a small plate of orange segments and slices of Parma ham. For twenty-six years, Pharos had been accustomed to simple morning meals, until he met Dorian last year—only then did he witness combinations that defied convention. Sometimes it was a traditional Italian breakfast, but other times far more lavish and varied; ham and fried eggs with grape scones and milk tea were not unusual.

While the young heir ate, Rudy produced a tablet and handed it to him.

"Here is today's schedule, along with several matters requiring your personal attention." Rudy reported concisely. " At nine, a meeting with several caporegimes from the Metropolitan City of Naples. At eleven-thirty, a discussion with an intermediary from Milan regarding new cargo transport routes. At two in the afternoon, the Don wishes you to return to the Avellino headquarters."

"Did Father give a reason?" Pharos scrolled through the schedule, his brow furrowing slightly.

"He only said it concerns the final decision on the Delano family border issue."

Pharos nodded. The Delano family had been having some friction with the Silver Flame Society in the southern border region. It had recently become somewhat troublesome, and his father had finally decided to take action.

"Additionally, Mr. Romo said the British businessman Walker has arrived in Naples. He hopes you will consider whether to meet with him personally."

Pharos took a sip of his cappuccino. "Tell Romo I'll handle it in the afternoon. Arrange it at the 'Vespers' club, five o'clock."

Rudy noted the instructions, then collected the household trash and quietly exited the apartment. Pharos continued to finish breakfast alone. After placing the dishes in the dishwasher, he entered his study to review pending work documents, preparing for the nine o'clock meeting.

Naples, this city mingled with history, crime, and passion, was the most strategically significant location within the Silver Flame Society's sphere of influence. As the heir of the Cesare family, he represented his father's authority here while gradually building his own influence.

＊

At nine in the morning, Pharos arrived with two bodyguards at a relatively inconspicuous office in central Naples. From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary real estate agency building, but inside it served as the Cesare family's command center for the area.

Five people were already seated in the conference room. When Pharos walked in, they immediately rose to their feet, their expressions a mixture of respect and subtle wariness.

"Be seated." Pharos said briefly as he took the head seat himself. His voice was not loud, yet it carried an unquestionable authority.

"Underboss, regarding the independent gang still operating within our territory..." one of the caporegimes began.

"Cassio's people?" Coldness flickered across Pharos's green eyes.

The Cassio family had openly defected from the Cesare family some time ago. Most of the traitors had already paid the price, yet the Silver Flame Society had not completely eradicated them. Some insignificant low-level remnants still lingered in the surrounding areas, joining forces with local small gangs.

"Yes. Last week they collected protection money from three of our storefronts and injured two of our doormen."

Pharos fell silent for a moment. Everyone involuntarily held their breath. In the Cesare family, silence was often more frightening than outbursts.

"Marco has already given you sufficient manpower. Why hasn't this been resolved?" Pharos finally questioned.

"We..." The caporegime hesitated. "We weren't sure how you wished to handle it. The composition of those traitors has become complicated. Considering there might be someone behind them..."

"Who?"

Another caporegime interjected, "There's word that the Delano family is backing them."

"Evidence?" The coldness in Pharos's eyes deepened.

"No direct evidence. Just secondhand rumors that came through roundabout channels. But the timing is too coincidental."

Pharos leaned back in his chair, fingertips lightly tapping against each other. He was not a reckless man; every decision was calculated. If the Delanos really had a hand in this, the problem had just become more complicated. This afternoon, he would be discussing this very family with his father.

"Observe for now. But if they collect protection money again, make them taste the consequences. Moderate violence, discreet sanctions. Neither excessive nor weak. Other forces are watching. After I confer with the Don this afternoon, there will be clearer instructions."

Italian culture emphasized emotional bonds and social connections. Complete annihilation could quell unrest in the shortest time, but the cost might be damage to the family's image, which would hinder the rallying of hearts and minds. Betrayal was certainly disgraceful, yet being too cold-blooded and ruthless in an underworld where personal relationships were deeply intertwined could sometimes backfire. If everyone with even the slightest connection were executed wholesale, it would breed more resentment, disapproval, desire for revenge, and rebellious sentiment.

This was Pharos's thinking.

The caporegimes nodded in acknowledgment, the tension on their faces easing somewhat. Pharos was not the type of leader prone to sudden rages. His calm decisiveness often inspired confidence. Yet occasionally, this approach could also give the impression of being mild and overly benevolent. It was hard to say whether that was good or bad.