~ALEXANDRO’S POV~

I move like a predator—silent, calculating. My fingers grip the gun, safety off, aimed directly at the head of the poor bastard on the other side of the door.

The handle turns.

The second the door cracks open, I raise my gun.

"Cristo Santo!"(Holy Christ)

Mario freezes, his hands flying up in surrender. A cigar dangles between his fingers, his signature cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Sei impazzito, fratello?” (Have you lost your mind, brother?) he drawls, amusement laced in his voice.

I exhale sharply, lowering the gun. My pulse is still a hammer against my ribs.

“Mario,” I growl, shoving the gun back into my waistband....