The warehouse was silent except for the faint hum of city life filtering through the cracked windows. Isabella leaned against the cold metal railing, eyes closed for a brief moment as she tried to calm her racing heart. The night had been a whirlwind—traps, confrontation, and the unrelenting presence of Dante at her side—but despite their tactical victory, Vittorio had escaped. The thought gnawed at her like a persistent shadow, each heartbeat a reminder that the game was far from over.

Dante emerged from the shadows behind her, voice low and almost tender. “You held yourself together well,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The faint...