The black SUV rolled through the narrow streets of Palermo just as the morning sun bled across the Sicilian skyline. The city was alive — loud, chaotic, and pulsing with the kind of energy that never really slept. But inside the car, there was only silence. Heavy, unspoken tension hung between Dante and Isabella, thick as smoke.

Dante’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw locked in that way it always was when he was deep in thought — or hiding something. Isabella watched him from the passenger seat, her fingers curled in her lap, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. They’d made it out of...