SERAFINA’S POV:
The drive back to the private airstrip was a blur of headlights, silence, and boiling rage. My knuckles were white on the grip of my gun, every bump on the road another reminder that Alessia was in danger—and I wasn’t there to stop it.
Alonzo was on his phone, coordinating with our security team in Italy. He was speaking in clipped Italian, cursing under his breath as he issued rapid-fire orders. I appreciated his efficiency. But even that wasn’t enough to cool the storm inside me.
Someone had dared touch my people.
Someone had dared touch Alessia.
There would be blood. Not just spilled—poured.
The jet was ready when we arrived. No customs, no baggage checks, just the sound of the engines roaring like they could sense my fury. As we boarded, Alonzo gave me a look—a wa
