The Serpents Mark

Dante

The De Leone household was quieter than usual, but not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was the strained kind of silence that hummed with tension, too many unanswered questions.

Cassian's office had the smell of burnt espresso and gun powder when I walked in. He was slouched over his desk, rolled-up sleeves, abandoned half-full coffee cup beside a stack of files. Marcello was sitting opposite