The villa was quiet in the early hours of dawn, but the stillness was a lie. Every shadow seemed longer, every creak louder, and the air itself carried the memory of last night’s chaos. Dante paced the study, his brow furrowed, eyes dark with tension. Isabella watched him from the doorway, arms folded across her chest, sensing the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

“Something’s off,” he murmured, voice low and tense. “The ambush last night… it was too precise. They knew exactly where we would be, how we would move.”

Isabella stepped closer, her fingers brushing his arm. “You think… someone inside?” she asked, the words barely above a...