Sally's Blade

The rain continued its relentless assault, each drop a tiny hammer against the tall, arched windows of Joseph Vincetti’s study. Inside, the silence was a heavy cloak, broken only by the rhythmic whisper of the downpour and the soft hiss of the green-shaded lamp on his mahogany desk. Joseph stood with his back to the room, his silhouette stark against the distorted reflections of the storm outside. He held a single white bloom, its petals already bruised and yielding. Methodically, with a precision that spoke of long practice or a deep, unsettling calm, he stripped away each delicate petal, letting them fall like tiny ghosts onto the polished wood.

"Find him," Joseph’s voice was a low rumble, barely disturbing the quiet. "The one who smiled when they told him."

Tony, his most trusted lieutenant, stood a respectful distance behind him, his face a mask of quiet attention. "Boss, the Messanos are locked down tight. It's a ghost town."