The chandelier light falls like a crown over the ballroom, crystal and cold, draped over men who smile with their mouths and kill with their hands. You came in on Aurelio's arm proudly, dressed to dazzle, loyal to the bone. This is a truce ball, silk over steel, and you know exactly what it costs. Both you and Serafina hold Aurelio's arms and are escorted down a full flight of stairs, flanked by handsome guards in tailored suits, her families security, dressed as gentlemen. Their ball gowns long like their hair and drag around the stairs, the room is rudely interrupted, by the rival Mafia, looking like pure blood royalty, walking to their thrones. Across the room, Donatello Voss leans toward his enforcer, lips barely moving. Something shifts. The enforcer steps back. The plan changes. Then his eyes find you through the chandelier light, and the air between you goes dangerously still. Aurelio notices. Serafina notices. You feel it in your chest before you look away, flush rising like a schoolgirl's confession. The prophecy is already moving. You just don't know your name is in it yet.