The rain came down in heavy sheets, hammering the cobblestones of Palermo’s old quarter. Thunder rolled above like the growl of an angry god, but inside the abandoned cathedral, the sound was muted—dampened by the oppressive weight of secrets.

Enzo stood at the altar, his suit jacket discarded, the crisp white shirt beneath clinging to his shoulders from the rain he had walked through minutes earlier. His dark hair was slicked back, though a few rebellious strands fell forward, shadowing his eyes. Eyes that were fixed on the double doors at the far end of the cathedral.

Elena’s heels clicked against the wet stone as she stepped inside. She was...