On a cold winter night, as the fog crept through the streets of Milan like ghosts, ten men from the most prestigious Italian families received mysterious invitations. The invitations were wrapped in luxurious black paper, sealed with dark wax bearing an unfamiliar inscription, like a message from another world. The sender was unknown, but the message was clear and decisive:

> "Gentlemen, you are invited to the Palace of Verona at midnight. There will begin a game that will change the future of Italy. Do not come alone, and do not come armed. The decision is in your hands, but whoever refuses the invitation... will not live to see the dawn."

None of them had a choice. Everyone in this world knew that an invitation like this was not to be refused, not only out of fear, but also out of greed for the power and authority it might bring. And so, at midnight, ten black cars headed towards the hills outside Milan, where the Palace of Verona is located, an ancient building that has long been surrounded by rumors and legends.

The mansion was huge, surrounded by dense pine trees that blocked out even the moonlight, making it look like a monster sleeping in the dark. Its iron gate was open like a mouth that swallowed the incoming ones without returning.

At the entrance stood a tall, masked man, wearing a luxurious black coat and a silver mask that covered his entire features, except for two cold, ice-like eyes.

"Welcome to the Curse of Verona." He said in a calm voice but with a hidden threat.

The ten men stepped inside, each carrying a mixture of curiosity and fear. Some were leaders of emerging gangs, others were businessmen with suspicious connections to the underworld. None of them knew each other personally, but they all knew that their presence here was no coincidence.

Inside the main hall, there was a round table, on which were ten black cards bearing their names. The place was lit by huge chandeliers, but despite the lights, the atmosphere was charged with gloom.

They sat down slowly, looking at each other suspiciously. Then, the masked man stood at the head of the table, placing his leather-gloved hands on the table, and said in a steady voice:

"You are here because you are the strongest, but strength alone is not enough to rule Italy. This country needs someone who has intelligence, courage, and the willingness to take risks. So, we will start the mafia game."

There was silence, before the man continued:

"Each one of you will become a gang leader, but you will not choose your own areas. I have left that to fate."

He then took out a wooden box and placed it on the table. He opened the lid, revealing ten colored glass balls, each one a different color.

"This is the lottery of your destiny. Each color represents a region in Italy. You will get rich cities and poor neighborhoods, but no one knows what luck has in store for them."

The men looked at each other, then began to draw the balls one by one. Some smiled when they got strategic areas, while others frowned when they found out that they got poor, problematic places. But there was no time to object, the rules had already been set.

When the draw was over, the masked man spoke again, but this time, his voice was more serious:

"Now, each of you has a region, and that means the beginning of war. You must build your gangs, expand your influence, and control everything you can. But remember... this is not just a game."

Then he pointed to a huge picture on the wall, which showed Italy divided into ten regions, and in the middle of it, there was a mysterious symbol that looked like a key with a snake wrapped around it.

"Somewhere inside Italy, there is a mysterious treasure. Whoever finds it will gain unimaginable power. But do not forget that the police are not far away, and there are those who watch you every step."

There was silence again. Everyone realized that what they were facing was not just a gang war, but something much bigger.

The masked man stood up for the last time, and then said in a decisive tone:

"From this moment on, you are no longer businessmen or small gang leaders... you are now the kings of the shadows. Prove yourselves, or you will be eliminated."

As he finished speaking, the door to the hall opened, and everyone got up and left, each with his own plans in mind.

But far away from this cursed palace, in one of the slums of Milan, Franco Pato was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, not yet aware that his fate was about to be intertwined with this deadly game, and that, despite his poverty, he might become part of this war.