The morning after the gala was eerily quiet.

Elena woke in the massive bed of their villa, the silk sheets twisted around her legs. Enzo was already gone, but his side of the bed was still warm. That meant he hadn’t left long ago. A faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air — cedarwood and danger.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind like flashes from a storm. The gala. The attempted sabotage. The way Enzo had stood beside her, ready to burn the entire ballroom to ash if it meant protecting her.

But something gnawed...