The city of Rome never truly slept, but in the early hours, it seemed to hold its breath, as though sensing the storm about to descend. Isabella lay awake in the villa’s small guest room, the soft sheets doing little to calm the tension coiling in her chest. Her mind replayed the last day’s events—the ambush, the fight, Dante’s unwavering protection. She could still feel the warmth of him pressed against her, the intensity of his gaze, the fire that refused to die even in the face of death.

A knock at the door startled her. She stiffened, hand instinctively going to the small dagger she kept hidden beneath the...