The silence after Henry’s death was suffocating. Leonardo and Arya stood over his body, blood painting their hands and faces, their breath ragged and uneven. The room was littered with corpses, a battlefield stained with loyalty and betrayal.

Ricardo and Roberto had finished off the remaining men, but Isabel barely had a moment to breathe before a rough hand seized her arm.

“Let go of me!” Isabel struggled, but the man twisted her arm behind her back, dragging her toward the far end of the room. Leonardo’s gun snapped up, finger curling around the trigger — but before anyone could react, a single, sharp gunshot rang out.

The man crumpled...