The stress of the siege was a physical presence, a hum in the stone walls that vibrated through the soles of my feet. From my high vantage point in the East Tower, I could see the Vitiello stronghold transforming. It was no longer a luxury villa; it was a hornet’s nest. Tactical lights swept the cliffs, and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a helicopter patrolled the coastline, its searchlight cutting through the fog like a surgical laser.

Inside, the gala continued—a surreal, macabre ...