Twenty-four hours before the Annual Syndicate Summit was scheduled to convene, the iron gates of the Ferrante estate swung open to admit a single, unescorted black sedan.
Nico stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Don Gio's private study, his broad hands behind his back, watching the vehicle glide down the cypress driveway.
Beside him, Mara sat in a leather armchair, wearing a dark velvet dress that fell softly over her visible bump. Her skin had recovered after a full day of bed rest, though Nico's eyes still lingered on her protectively.
"Just two of them," Nico noted softly. "Don Marino and Carla. No armed escort."
Mara turned her gaze toward the window. "Don Marino is a businessman first, Nico. Coming without a show of force sends a clear signal to the Council. He isn't here to posture. He's here to negotiate."
Luca stepped into the study a moment later. "Boss. Don Marino and Carla are downstairs in the parlour. Security checks are clear."
