The day began like any other quiet, deceptively so.
Bird song drifted through the open windows of the villa, and the sunlight spilled across the marble floors like gold.
Isabella stood at the kitchen counter, her hair pulled loosely into a braid, slicing fruit while the faint hum of the espresso machine filled the silence.
It was a picture of domestic tranquility… the kind of morning that almost made her forget.
Almost every disaster that had happened.
Because peace, she was learning, had an expiration date in Damian's world.
The heavy crunch of tires on gravel outside shattered the illusion.
Her knife paused mid-cut, her body tense before she even realized it.
Damian's voice came from the living room, low and alert.
"Stay here."
She turned just as he reached for the gun holstered at his back.
But when the door opened, the tension broke, replaced by something startlingly familiar.
"Luca," Damian exhaled, lowering the weapon.
