The city was alive again by the time they stepped out. Morning sunlight reflected off the wet cobblestones, glimmering like spilled glass. Rome had always been a city of secrets, and today it seemed to breathe around them—every shadow alive with possibility, every sound charged with quiet threat.

Dante walked beside Isabella, his hand brushing hers occasionally, a silent reassurance more potent than words. The safehouse was behind them now, its walls still echoing with what they hadn’t said and what they couldn’t undo. He’d kissed her, finally. And though that kiss had changed everything, it also reminded him of the danger they stood in—the fragile line between love and...