The warmth of Lorenzo’s touch still lingered on Elena’s skin as she lay curled against his chest. His breath was steady, one arm protectively around her, the other loosely holding his gun even in sleep.

But outside the glass walls of the villa, danger was already closing in.

The sniper remained still on the rooftop across the hill, camouflaged by the night, scope trained on the very room where the mafia king and his queen lay entangled. But the rifle didn’t fire—not yet. The order hadn’t come.

Only the red light blinked.

Watching.

Marking.

Elena stirred first.

She slipped from Lorenzo’s embrace, wrapping herself in his black shirt, padding barefoot...