The villa no longer hummed with celebration. It vibrated with discipline.

At dawn, the courtyard filled with the sound of boots striking marble as Enzo’s men drilled in formation. Gunfire cracked from the training range. Knives clattered against wooden dummies. The scent of oil and steel hung thick in the morning air.

From the balcony above, Enzo and Elena watched.

“They’re sharp,” Elena observed, her hands resting on the stone railing. “But not sharp enough.”

Enzo nodded, arms crossed, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. “Half of them grew soft in peace. A soldier at rest is a soldier who forgets he’s mortal.”

Her gaze swept the courtyard...