My name is Leilac Leamas, although those who truly knew me understood that even that identity was just a mask, a façade behind which lurked a more complex figure. By trade, I was a corporate consultant, operating at the intersections where commerce, politics, and influence coalesced. But beneath the surface of that seemingly innocuous professional label, I was an operative. My currency was the clandestine information that could either build empires or bring them tumbling down. As I lowered myself into the plush expanse of my airplane seat, the cabin enveloped me in a hushed stillness. Only the muted roar of the engines and the distant, furtive mutterings of other passengers broke the silence. There, within the confined space of the cabin, ninety precious minutes of contemplation stretched ahead—a fleeting respite to untangle the complex web of my forthcoming mission. This was no ordinary endeavor, no pedestrian bout of corporate subterfuge or international political maneuvering. Rather, it promised a descent into the very bowels of organized crime, under the banner of Sacra Corona Unita. This syndicate’s history was a dark quilt of familial oaths and criminal legacy, stretchi