CHAPTER 8

It started as a simple miscalculation.

Or at least, that's what they thought.

A shipment—high value, time-sensitive—was scheduled for pickup in Marseille.

It never arrived.

The Turkish suppliers, who had practically begged for Matteo's business, suddenly claimed they had never received the confirmation.

Matteo's lieutenants were immediately on edge.

"I saw the approval myself," one of them snapped, his fist slamming against the polished table. "It was in the reports!"

Tension rippled through the room.

And at the center of it all, Sasha.

She sat with practiced ease, flipping through her documents, expression unreadable save for a delicate hint of mild concern.

"Hmm," she murmured, letting her manicured fingers trail down the printed report as if tracing a mystery.

Then, a pause. A slow tilt of her head.

"That's strange," she mused, tapping a section of the document. "The confirmation was sent… but look here."

A single line.

A single name.

The wrong contact.

"A clerical error," she concluded, looking up with a perfectly measured amount of sympathy. "A simple mistake. It happens."

Silence.

Then—the unraveling began.

"Who handled this transaction?"

"It was Davide's team—wasn't it?"

"No, it was Federico's." A sharp look. "I remember Matteo telling him personally."

Davide's expression darkened. "So now you're saying I don't know how to do my job?"

Federico scoffed. "I'm saying you're getting sloppy."

It was beautiful. Perfectly executed chaos.

One tiny adjustment in the paperwork.

One insignificant name switched.

And now, two of Matteo's most trusted men were at each other's throats.

Sasha leaned back, her face impassive, but inside—oh, inside, she smiled.

Because this was just the beginning.

The next misstep wasn't even noticed.

Not at first.

A security report flagged a potential attack on one of Matteo's warehouses—one of his biggest distribution points.

Sasha, ever the diligent strategist, brought it forward immediately.

The response was swift.

Men were pulled from other sites. Security tripled. Matteo's crew spent days fortifying the warehouse, preparing for a war that never came.

Because there was no war.

The real attack?

A quiet, invisible breach in Milan.

Not guns. Not blood.

But a financial massacre.

While Matteo's men were busy standing guard over ghosts, an unknown party hacked into one of his banking fronts, siphoning millions before anyone even noticed.

By the time they did?

Gone.

Untraceable.

A clean, bloodless execution.

And the best part?

No one blamed Sasha.

How could they?

She had warned them.

If anything, they trusted her more now.

Over the next few weeks, things kept happening.

A shipment rerouted to the wrong dock.

An informant disappeared before a crucial meeting.

A trusted supplier backed out of a long-standing deal.

Small, isolated incidents.

Nothing big enough to cause panic.

But enough to cause whispers.

Davide no longer trusted Federico.

Federico started watching Davide's every move.

And Lorenzo?

Lorenzo, who had been silent, observant, waiting—

Stopped speaking in meetings altogether.

That was the real sign.

Lorenzo saw something.

Felt something.

And Matteo?

Matteo remained distant. Unreachable.

A king who no longer sat at his own table.

The empire was fracturing.

One by one, Matteo's most loyal men began to question each other.

Suspicion. Mistrust. Paranoia.

Sasha played her part flawlessly.

Helping. Correcting. Advising.

And yet—

The more she helped, the more unstable the empire became.

And that was the point.

An empire once solid as steel was beginning to splinter.

And Sasha?

Sasha was just getting started.