The first explosion didn't come from the front lines.
It came from inside the house.
Isabella felt it through the floor before she heard a violent shudder beneath her boots, a deep, concussive tremor that rattled the chandeliers and sent a scream of splintering glass through the upper halls.
"The north wing," Luca said instantly, already moving.
"No," Isabella snapped. "That wing was cleared."
Luca's jaw tightened. "Then whoever's there wanted us to think so."
Another blast followed, closer this time. Smoke began to crawl along the ceiling like a living thing, thick and black, carrying the sharp bite of fuel and burning stone.
The estate was under siege from within.
The north wing had always been quiet old guest rooms, sealed corridors, and forgotten galleries. That was why Marco had chosen it.
