James
Back in New York, the city hums its usual tune—sirens, honking horns, and the distant murmur of life never pausing. My penthouse, perched above the chaos, offers a deceptive sense of calm. The skyline stretches beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tapestry of lights and ambition. The past 48 hours have been a whirlwind. Alya, with her uncanny ability to command a room, secured not just my loyalty but that of my inner circle. She didn't rely on her surname; she relied on her presence, her conviction. The Nosa Costra lieutenants, initially skeptical, now see her as a force worth backing—not a usurper, but a leader.
She's also begun to mend the frayed ties with the Bratva, reaching into the shadows her father, Siege, left behind. All without his knowledge. It's a delicate dance, but one she's executing with precision.
