The aftermath of the raid still clung to the air like smoke from the burning compound — thick, acrid, and impossible to ignore. We had struck a decisive blow, but the cost was clear in every sharp breath and every ache in my muscles. The night had been a battlefield, and though we’d emerged victorious, the war was far from over.
The safehouse was unusually quiet as I paced the war room. The digital maps glowed softly under Alessia’s fingers, red dots blinking where De Luca’s empire still held ground. But now, those dots seemed vulnerable—exposed by the strike against Marco Vieri.
Alonzo watched me from the corner, his eyes heavy but alert. He hadn’t left my side since the compound fell, and though exhaustion tugged at his features, the fire in his gaze remained unbroken.
“Serafina,” he
