The mansion was wrapped in an eerie quiet, the kind that didn’t soothe but suffocated. Night had fallen hours ago, yet no one inside the walls dared to sleep. Every guard was awake. Every gun was loaded. Every light stayed on. Fear moved through the air like smoke, curling into corners and shadows.Isabella felt it most.She sat beside the window of the guest room Lorenzo had moved her into—a room closer to his office, closer to his guards, closer to him. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of the bruises on her wrists. They stung when she pressed them, but the pain reminded her she was alive.Alive… even though Marco wanted her dead.Or worse.Her breath wavered. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring at the moon outside. The forest beyond the mansion swayed with the wind, but in her mind, she heard footsteps… Marco’s footsteps. She heard the scrape of rope against wood. His chilling laugh. The whisper he left her with:“Lorenzo will bleed for this.”A shudder

The sun had barely risen above the treeline when the De Luca mansion erupted into motion again. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, radios crackled with urgent static, and engines roared to life outside. The world was waking… but Lorenzo De Luca had not slept.He was still in the same clothes he had worn the night before, blood drying on his sleeves, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. But his mind was awake—sharper than ever. Every nerve, every instinct, every breath was anchored to one truth:Marco wasn’t finished.Marco never stopped.And Marco wanted Isabella.Lorenzo stepped out into the hall just as Lucio approached from the staircase, a folder tucked under his arm.“You’re up?” Lucio asked.“I never went to sleep.” Lorenzo’s voice was gravel—not tired, but dangerous.Lucio swallowed. “We got intel from one of the men you… questioned.”Lorenzo gave him a cold, silent look.Lucio quickly corrected himself. “Interrogated. Professionally.”Lorenzo’s jaw twitched. “Show me.”They w

The snowstorm swallowed the world whole.Wind ripped through the trees with a feral scream, carrying the scent of blood—Lorenzo’s blood—across the mountains. The forest seemed alive, breathing in ragged gasps as if it knew death was moving through its heart.Marco ran.His vision blurred, his side drenched red, breath slicing through frost like broken glass. The cold gnawed at him, ate him alive, but he didn’t stop. Rage kept him upright. Hatred kept his pulse pumping.Love—twisted, poisoned, delusional—kept him fighting.“Lorenzo…” he growled into the storm. “Still playing hero. Still stealing what’s mine.”Branches whipped his face as he stumbled deeper into the dark.Behind him, distant shouts echoed through the trees.De Luca soldiers.Hunting him.But he wasn’t running from them.He was leading them.---Inside the LodgeLorenzo’s vision faded in and out like a dying bulb.The bullet had gone deep. Too deep.He leaned heavily against Isabella as Lucio wrapped a cloth around his w