The Mediterranean dawn painted the horizon in shades of crimson and gold, but the villa woke to whispers of death.

Dante was the first to bring the news. His car screeched into the courtyard, gravel scattering, his men pale and tight-lipped. Enzo and Elena were still in the dining hall, finishing a quiet breakfast of espresso and fruit, when the doors burst open.

“Boss,” Dante said, his voice sharp, urgent. “You need to see this.”

Enzo set down his cup without a word. Elena rose beside him, her silk robe flowing as she followed Dante out into the morning air.

On the private stretch of beach below the villa, the...