The throne room held its breath beneath Vincenzo's gaze, slow and deliberate, as though measuring the worth of each life before him.
Every whispered murmur, every twitch of a glove or shuffle of parchment, was amplified in the oppressive silence that wrapped the chamber. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the four alcoves where the house leaders sat—their faces betraying flickers of unease beneath.
"Lady Valeria," Vincenzo's voice cut through the stillness—icy, absolute, brooking no argument. "Such forgery cannot thrive without hidden hands inside your ranks." His voice was hard as iron, leaving no room for doubt. "There is a traitor sheltered within your own walls. I expect the responsible found and named. Alive. Untouched. Delivered to Versimoil within one week."
