The morning after the blood-soaked night was quiet—too quiet.

Elena woke before Enzo, sunlight bleeding in through the half-drawn curtains. The villa felt still, like the entire estate was holding its breath. She slipped out of bed, letting the silk sheet slide from her bare skin, and padded toward the balcony. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of the sea, but even the waves seemed muted, as though the world was bracing for something it couldn’t see yet.

She rested her hands on the cold iron railing, her mind replaying every moment of the fight from last night. The gunfire. The chaos. The betrayals. And the way...