The sun rose slowly over the Adriatic, bleeding soft gold across the rippling waves. The horizon shimmered, endless and uncertain, while the small boat rocked gently beneath them. Dante cut the engine hours ago, letting the tide carry them eastward into the quiet.

For the first time in days, there was no sound of pursuit—no engines, no gunfire, no shouts echoing through the dark. Only the rhythmic lap of water against wood and the whisper of wind.

Isabella sat on the edge of the boat, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the sea as if it might answer the questions she couldn’t voice. Her hair whipped across her face,...