The villa was quiet, almost unnervingly so. The aftermath of the last ambush left a lingering tension that neither Dante nor Isabella could shake. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind through the old stone walls, felt like a warning. The betrayal they had narrowly escaped still loomed over them like a shadow, reminding them that survival was never guaranteed.

Isabella sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup, trying to ground herself. Her mind was racing, replaying Dante’s every move during the last fight, the way his eyes sought hers even in chaos, and the raw intensity of...