The city felt different at dawn. The first rays of sunlight sliced through the Venetian blinds of the villa, painting golden stripes across the floor. Dante sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. Isabella stirred beside him, her hair falling in a messy cascade over his arm. He watched her, trying to anchor himself in her presence while the storm of the night’s battle still roared in his mind.

“Dante…” Isabella’s voice was soft, husky with sleep and lingering desire. She reached for him instinctively, tracing his jawline with her fingertips.

“I’m here,” he murmured, gripping her hand. “But we’ve got problems.”

Her brow furrowed, concern...