The plane touched down just before sunrise, the first blush of dawn brushing across the sky like spilled wine. Isabella barely realized she’d been holding her breath until the engines went silent. Her pulse still thundered from the chaos they’d escaped hours before — the bullets, the fire, the betrayal.

When the door opened, the crisp air of Tuscany rushed in, carrying the scent of olives, wet earth, and danger. They weren’t just anywhere — this was one of Dante’s private estates, an old vineyard hidden deep in the hills, protected by men who owed him their lives.

He stepped out first, scanning the perimeter with soldier-like precision before offering...