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‘Mid-sector. On The Odalon, which just got bombed inside the perimeter. Tis the Lombardis. I just received a distress call from our comms officer on board, who claims the bastards used a Hades -level shield-piercing kinetic detonation. The hull is cracking like a walnut.’

Savvine’s body locked, her breath hitched in her throat.

‘The crew?’

‘Evacuating as we speak.’

‘Damn.’

‘The blast wave’s coming,’ Abby continued, voice tight. ‘The explosion’s shock front will reach us in five minutes. It won’t break the dome, but it’ll rattle us hard enough to send people flying if they’re not ready.’

Savvine swore, then took a deep breath.

Fokk , the gunship she chanced on earlier, must have been a scout for the bigger attack.

‘It appears that the wedding of the year was the distraction our enemies used to creep closer and take out one of our most weaponized vessels. Sante Abby, I’ll make the general and Eugene aware.’

‘One more thing,’ Abby whispered as Savvine’s eyes focused on the blooming inferno in the distance.

Abby didn’t smile. ‘I hacked the Lombardis’ comms arrays. Pulled some deep-cored archive from last week. Pull up a bar stool, you might want to sit for this.’

‘I’m wearing a tight and strapless bridesmaid dress. Not ideal for collapsing. We don’t have the time for it either. Speak, woman.’

Abby snorted, but it was humorless. ‘I’ve got footage of a clandestine meet between a Lombardi capo and a high-ranking Signet operative.

One of their strong guard. Possibly Kaal Essen or Santiago Alvarro, but it’s grainy as hell.

I can’t even be sure given those Signet fokkers keep their IDs secret and locked down. ’

Savvine’s heart punched her ribs. ‘That bomb on the Odalon .’

Abby nodded grimly. ‘Might’ve come from Signet. Money was exchanged. Plus packages.’

‘Do we have proof?’

Abby shrugged, her expression dark. ‘Not hard. Not yet. But a parcel handed off less than a day before this explosion? I don’t believe in coincidences, and neither should you.’

Savvine stared past the holo, into the sea of candlelight and joy behind her. Her stomach turned cold.

She bit her cheek, confident that Eugene would make her a scapegoat for the security breach.

Perhaps even attempt to make her pay for the slip-up, even if she was not the one who orchestrated the hit.

She glanced up at the dome above, shimmering with gold decorations, casting the illusion of serenity. Beyond it, the frigate burned.

She cursed, hoping its few hundred crew members all managed to get away.

Her soul felt gutted, as she was again reminded that on this flotilla, every moment of joy had to be guarded with a blade.

Laleh and Dorian danced on, oblivious, while laughter spiraled around the tables.

She inhaled, set her worries about Eugene aside, and prioritized ensuring the entire ship and her extended family remained safe.

‘I need to make sure everyone stays calm,’ she said, turning to Abby while tapping into her neural link and dispatching silent codes to her team.

‘I’ll get Leiko and the team to handle the doors if anyone panics, then I’ll brief the General.

Meantime, get me a direct line to Captain Therros on The Odalon , if he’s still breathing. ’

Abby gave a tight nod and vanished into the crowd like vapor.

Moving fast, she tracked down Leiko and handed down instructions.

General Arasteh was already moving to the exit and was most likely done with the event.

Savvine raced and intercepted him by the pillar near the buffet, where the wall panels pulsed with soft amber lighting.

He took one look at her face and slowed his roll.

‘I can tell from that slight tic in your right eye that shit’s going down. Talk to me.’

‘Sir,’ she said under her breath, eyes on the revelers. ‘I’ve received word of a confirmed hit on The Odalon . Abby ran the damage analysis. The frigate’s venting atmosphere. Also, Captain Therros is MIA.’

Arasteh’s expression remained unreadable, calm, but she recognized the tension behind his eyes. She’d worn the same face too many times.

His jaw flexed, just once. ‘The Lombardis?’

Savvine gave the slightest nod. ‘The shockwave’s about to hit. You need to make a brace announcement.’

He exhaled through his nose. ‘ Fokk .’

Without another word, he pivoted onto the center platform where the musicians had just finished their set.

The micro-mics in his collar activated before he even cleared his throat.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Arasteh said, voice firm but measured. ‘Apologies for the interruption. We’re experiencing a minor skirmish outside the safe zone. Stay calm, no need for panic. However, for your safety, I advise you to activate your maglev boots and brace if you have them now.’

A ripple of movement passed through the ballroom. Beneath flowing skirts and pressed dress slacks, the hum of activation buzzed in dozens of soles.

Silver fastenings locked to the magnetic flooring. Savvine did the same, her foot gear hissing as they synced to the ship’s inner grid.

The first tremor was faint, a distant vibration like a passing train.

Then, a second wave rolled through the hull like a great sigh from the stars.

Glasses toppled. Prosecco bottles slid off trays.

Someone yelped.

The seven-tiered wedding cake, impossibly ornate and frosted in pearl swirls, swayed like a drunk ballerina.

Everyone held their breath.

It wobbled. Tilted and then righted itself.

One of the crowd started clapping. Laughter and cheers burst out like champagne corks. The music struck back up.

Savvine let out a long, slow exhalation.

‘Lucky cake,’ Arasteh muttered as he stepped back beside her, his utterance a hushed snarl now, meant only for her ears. ‘Shame we can’t say the same for the Odalon .’

‘Such freakin’ cowards,’ Savvine muttered. ‘They made it personal.’

‘Oh, it’s always been personal. The Lombardis are escalating.’

She sliced her eyes at him. ‘ Fokk them.’

He gave a small grunt, and his jaw clenched as if he suppressed the urge to let out a tirade of curses. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘This is all about an age-old vendetta they won’t let go of. Nor their pride.’

The feud among the Bianchi and Lombardi clans began with stupid choices, like all old wars: a celebration and too much wine.

It happened soon after the flotilla to Pegasi launched from Earth’s central orbital station with its passengers.

The Eterna’s contingent was the Italian Bianchi clan and its offshoots, mainly hailing from across what was once Europe, the USA, and Australia.

A brawl between hotheaded young men on each side spun out of control.

Two Bianchis died that night, blood on polished floors, glass shattered like a bad omen, and nothing was the same after.

From then on, the cycle became brutal.

Retaliation turned into a ritual.

Killings into tallies. The kind of tit-for-tat violence that soaked into family stories, becoming a legacy, then a prophecy.

For a brief moment, hope shimmered.

A few years ago, the Syndicate Commission, the governing member body of all the Houses represented in the armada, declared a truce.

Thin and trembling, it held for a few months, until a woman died.

She hadn’t been just any female.

She was the wife of a Lombardi higher-up, found shot dead on a Bianchi luxury cruiser. The scandal exploded like a mine when a gossip holo revealed she was the mistress of Stromboli Bianchi, Savvine’s grandfather, the late mob boss.

That revelation turned the woman’s death from a tragedy to a powder keg.

The fallout was catastrophic.

The worst came not long after, in what would be infamous as the Vaedra Massacre .

Stromboli Bianchi, two of his sons, and half the Bianchi elder council boarded a vessel called Vaedra en route to a Syndicate leadership meeting.

They never arrived.

Somewhere along the mid-route corridor, a cruel explosion tore the ship apart.

One so clean and calculated that it left nothing behind but vapor trails and an echo of plasma.

The brutality of the assassination forced the Syndicate Commission’s hand. The governing council, comprised of leaders from allied clans aboard the Pegasi flotilla, launched a full-scale investigation.

The result was swift and punishing: over thirty Lombardi affiliates arrested, tried, and imprisoned.

They now languished in isolation in prison, located on the Signet dreadnought.

The Sombra was the HQ of the flotilla’s private security and mercenary company tasked with handling security by the Syndicate.

Still, the official dispute simmered beneath the surface, not quite an open war.

Until now.

It didn’t help that Eugene Bianchi, Stromboli’s youngest son, was a hopeless mob boss. Too young, too spoiled, too indulgent, too grieved, he ceded control of the clan’s business to the clan council and the Eterna’s executive team.

So far, they’d been avoiding major conflict, and Savvine had often wondered for much longer.

It seemed not long at all.

General Aresteh’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘Where is dear Eugene during all this?’

‘Floating on that damn luxury yacht port side,’ she clipped her tone laced with bitterness, ‘snorting koko and pretending he didn’t abandon us to the expanse.’

‘Not a bad problem to have. He’s the last man I want holding a detonator or a strategy plan,’ Arasteh quipped.

Savvine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do I need his permission to hunt the Lombardis?’

The commander focused on her with a grim look. ‘ Nada . Do it. I’ll take the heat if any comes down the pipe. Make it clean, no civilian casualties. No evidence. We’re not giving the Syndicate a reason to audit us again.’

She smirked, then glanced across the crowd.

Her father, Enrico, gave her a subtle nod from beneath the glowing sculpture of twin rings.

Savvine lifted her chin, just once, in acknowledgment.

Then she tapped into her neural node.

:: Command to Team Alpha. We’re heading out to follow the ripple path from the shockwave. We’ll be all over each docking line and every long-range scanner. To track any Lombardi ship in the vicinity before they slip away. ::

She moved to the exit, the music dimming behind her as the door hissed open. She didn’t look back.

‘Let’s go hunt down some Lombardi ass.’