The vigil was a cold, hard test of endurance. I had finally surrendered the two boys back to the NICU, clinging to the memory of their warmth. Now, I sat alone beside Isabella, the faint scent of antiseptic and her skin the only constants in my shattered reality. Domenico and Enzo had been handling the necessary cleanup—transporting Giovanni’s body back to Italy, dealing with the political fallout of Damon’s death, and ensuring absolute security on the compound.

The atmosphere of the ...