The city was quiet now, but the silence was heavy with the remnants of battle. Palermo had survived the storm — the streets still bore scorch marks, shattered glass glimmered under the morning sun, and the distant wail of sirens reminded everyone that the chaos had left its mark. But in the villa atop the hill, the heart of the empire, victory had a scent that was both sharp and sweet.

Elena stood on the balcony, the morning light glinting off the marble below. Her black tactical suit was replaced by a tailored crimson dress, the color of fire and blood, her hair cascading in waves that shimmered like liquid...