Marco stood before the abandoned steel factory on the outskirts of Verona, a place that once hummed with life but now served a darker purpose. Rusted gates. Broken windows. The smell of oil and death soaked into the concrete.
His kingdom.
Not Alessandro's.
Not Damian's.
Certainly not Isabella's.
A slow smile curved his lips as he stepped inside. Men ruthless, armed, loyal only to blood money straightened when they saw him. Some were former Moretti soldiers he'd stolen away one by one. Others were mercenaries, killers, deserters from rival families. Men with nothing to lose.
Perfect soldiers for a man like him.
"Report," Marco ordered.
A lieutenant stepped forward. "Three hundred men ready. Another two hundred arriving by nightfall. All awaiting your command."
Marco nodded, pleased.
Five hundred shadows.
Five hundred blades.
All hidden from Alessandro's network.
All hidden from the Iron Crown.
