The night was alive with the sound of gunfire. Smoke curled through the ruins like dark fingers searching for breath, and the scent of burning flesh hung thick in the air. Isla stood in the middle of it, her heart pounding against her ribs as the villa grounds became a battlefield.
Dante was beside her, his gun drawn, eyes cold and sharp as glass. Every movement of his body was pure control, but his voice when he barked orders carried something new—panic hidden behind command. Luca's men had breached the walls. The last barrier had fallen.
"Keep behind me," Dante snapped, firing into the shadows.
"I am not hiding," Isla shouted back, crouching beside a broken pillar. Her voice trembled with fury, not fear. "You taught me how to fight. Let me use it."
A man lunged at them from the smoke. Isla reacted before she could think, slamming the butt of her pistol into his jaw. He dropped, and she kicked his gun away. Her hands shook, but she stood tall.
