Azzurra rose slowly, arms lifted in surrender.

“Drop the gun!” one of the men barked.

At least eight barrels were trained on them, and she knew every last one carried silver. Her fingers slackened, the weapon slipping from her hand to the floor. Instantly, the muzzles shifted toward Alarico.

“Drop the fcking gun, or we’ll shoot her,” the leader snarled.

Alarico’s jaw clenched hard, but he didn’t argue. With a flick of his wrist, he cast the weapon aside, then raised ...