The dawn was pale and fragile, stretching thin fingers of light across the cityscape as Isabella and Dante moved silently through the quiet streets. The previous night had left them both drained and elated, an intricate mixture of triumph and tension. Vittorio’s schemes had been foiled, and yet the knowledge of the betrayer within their circle gnawed at both of them. There was no room for hesitation—not now. Not when every step they took could uncover deeper layers of deceit.

Isabella’s mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t voice. The memory of Dante’s closeness, his protective hand, and the intensity in his eyes haunted her every movement. She tried to shake...