The storm broke in the night. Not of rain, but of blood.
Gunfire crackled through the hills, sharp and merciless, waking the villa with a jolt. Guards thundered through corridors, barking orders as if the walls themselves might collapse. Isla sat upright in her bed, heart pounding, hand instinctively covering her stomach.
She listened. Every sound was clearer now, every shout, every hurried footstep. The war between Dante and Luca was no longer a distant threat. It was at their doorstep.
The door burst open, and Dante strode in, his face shadowed with fury. He wore his black coat half buttoned, his pistol at his side. His men followed, eyes darting, waiting for commands.
"Stay here," Dante said, his tone rough as gravel. "Do not move until I come for you."
"Is it Luca?" Isla asked, though she already knew.
His jaw clenched. "Spies. Saboteurs. They will not leave this estate alive." He turned to his men. "Double her guard. No one enters or leaves this room without my word."
