The moment Alessandro’s words hit the air, the room fell silent—an electric, breathless silence before the chaos.

Dante didn’t hesitate. His hand moved automatically to his gun, the familiar click echoing like a heartbeat. Isabella’s pulse quickened as adrenaline surged through her veins. She could already hear it—the distant growl of approaching engines, the crunch of gravel under tires. Matteo’s men were closing in.

“How far out?” Dante asked, voice low, deadly calm.

“Half a mile,” Alessandro replied, peering through the cracked window. “Two cars, maybe more. They’re moving fast.”

Dante’s jaw flexed. “Then we have less than three minutes.”

He pushed himself off the couch, ignoring the searing pain...