The first grey light of dawn found Alessandro staring at a dead phone screen, the silence in the safehouse pressing in like a physical weight. Everyone else slept—Eva curled protectively around Sophia, Lyra and Jeremy draped across chairs like spent soldiers.

He needed one truth before the lies ate him alive.

His first call wasn’t to his captains. It was to Milan.

“Pronto.” The voice was smooth, already sharp despite the hour.

“Stefan. It’s Alessandro.”

A pause. Then, a low, ...