Page 169 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
A soft chime follows. Then the screens flicker—once, twice—and come to life.
The display changes.
No longer just a reflection of my presence.
Now, it unfolds.
I see a map of Nuova Speranza first, familiar and cold.
Trade routes.
Surveillance grids.
Ports.
Financial funnels.
Shell companies spidering into legitimate institutions.
Then the map zooms out.
Across Italy. France. Switzerland. Beyond.
A continental web of logistics.
False identities.
Intercepted communications.
Offshore influence channeled through neutral cities.
London. Singapore. Algiers.
Names and numbers scroll faster than I can track them.
Every screen begins parsing a different set of information—military shipments hidden under pharmaceutical labels, oil supply routes diverted through shell syndicates, state-backed wire transfers rerouted to private bidders in Eastern Europe.
And then, something stranger.
A ledger. Not of assets, but of people.
Politicians. Journalists. Bank directors.
Each tagged with control mechanisms—debts owed, favors granted, skeletons buried in untraceable graves.
Every one of them linked to one of the six primary nodes of the Umbra network.
And every node built to obey the same rules.
Privacy. Leverage. Invisibility.
My father didn’t just build a failsafe for the Rossi name.
He built an invisible government.
Dante steps closer, reading the same streams I do.
"This isn’t a contingency," he says. "It’s a shadow regime."
