The villa was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that never boded well in a world built on blood, loyalty, and power. Elena stood in the main hall, black leather gloves in her hands, eyes scanning the room with a mixture of vigilance and unease. The city outside still slept under the fragile truce enforced after the docks’ battle, but the calm felt like a trap.

Enzo entered behind her, his coat hanging from broad shoulders, every movement measured, every glance sharp. He didn’t speak immediately. He just watched her, his dark eyes reading the tension in her posture, the tight line of her jaw.

“You’re worried,” he said at...