The morning after was a stark reminder of reality. The kiss had changed everything and shattered our last pretenses. But outside the library doors, the world kept moving. Dante was right: the absence of a body suggested the Curator was still alive, wounded, angry, and now fully aware of who we were. We were no longer the pursuers; we had become the prey.
We returned to the penthouse in tense silence. The air was heavy with the memory of the kiss, adding a new, volatile layer to our already complicated relationship. As we exited the private elevator, it was clear that Dante's "Ghost Protocol" had changed. The penthouse was now more than a secure home; it had become a military-grade command center.
Leo was waiting for us, his expression grimmer than usual. "Security is four times stronger. A counter-surveillance team is checking the building and monitoring all digital traffic within a two-block radius. We're in lockdown, sir."
"Good," Dante replied. "No one gets in or out without my direct permission. This includes deliveries, maintenance, everything."
I expected the familiar frustration of feeling trapped. But this time felt different. I understood the need for it. I'd seen the enemy's face. The fortress was no longer a prison for me; it was our shared sanctuary.
In the war room, Elias and Nyx were already working, their faces showing their fatigue.
"The Curator's real name is Alistair Finch," Elias announced flatly, his tone serious.
I froze; the name hit me hard. "Alistair & Finch? My old law firm?"
"The same one," Elias confirmed, pointing to a black-and-white photo on the screen. It showed a younger, sharper version of the man from the party. "He was the senior founding partner. A legal genius, an art collector, a philanthropist. He 'retired' twenty years ago after a scandal involving misused funds. The world thought he was disgraced and living in exile. It seems he just switched careers."
The pieces fell into place with a sickening clarity. The firm I had once admired, the one Dante had bought to protect me, was founded by the very man responsible for his parents' murder. The snake had already been in my garden long before I met Dante.
"He's been hiding in plain sight for decades," Nyx added, her fingers racing over her keyboard. "His digital footprint is nearly nonexistent. The decoy signal he used last night was a brilliant misdirection, but I found a residual data packet. A fragment. It's not a location, but it's a signature. A piece of code."
She displayed a string of complex characters on the main screen. "This code... it's a ghost. It's made to attach to secure networks, observe, and report. It's the digital equivalent of the Ouroboros. I found a trace of it, heavily dormant, in your father's old corporate servers, Dante."
The Curator hadn't just been an external enemy. For twenty years, the Syndicate had a spy inside the Moretti empire, watching, listening, and waiting.