The rain had begun before noon, slow and cold, sliding down the tall windows of the Romano estate like thin silver threads while the sky above the valley turned the color of old iron, and within the quiet corridors of the house the scent of coffee and paper hung faintly in the air where Marco Vitale sat behind a heavy oak desk surrounded by glowing screens and scattered reports.
Marco leaned back in his chair.
He rubbed his eyes.
"Ugh."
Three hours of financial analysis had left his brain feeling like overcooked pasta.
He muttered quietly to himself.
"War, assassinations, secret hunters, political reforms… fantastic."
He tapped the desk lightly.
"And now I get to deal with human bureaucracy."
The sarcasm hung in the quiet office.
Outside the window thunder rolled faintly across the mountains.
Marco picked up a folder.
Flipped through the pages.
"Hmm."
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
Two short taps.
Then the door opened before he could answer.
