The night came down heavy over Palermo, cloaking the city in a thick, restless silence. From the villa’s terrace, Isabella could see the faint lights of the harbor flickering against the sea, like dying embers refusing to go out. The air was cool, carrying the salt and smoke of a city always on the edge of something violent.

Inside, Dante moved like a storm contained in human form — efficient, deliberate, and seething with tension. Every motion he made carried purpose. He loaded clips, checked the SUV’s engine, mapped escape routes. Not once did he stop to breathe.

“Everything’s ready,” Isabella said softly, standing near the doorway, her small travel...