The Rossi villa had never felt so suffocating.
The marble halls, once echoes of laughter in her girlhood, now groaned under the weight of soldiers’ boots. Armed men stood at every corridor, rifles strapped across their chests, eyes sharp with suspicion. Every door seemed heavier, every shadow watching.
Adriana Rossi had lived her whole life inside these walls, but now she was a prisoner.
Her father’s fury had turned the house into a fortress after Damian’s strikes. Every gate was locked, every guest vetted. Even in her chamber, two guards lingered outside the door, their murmured conversations bleeding through the wood.
And in the midst of it all was her uncle, Enzo Rossi, prowling like a wounded wolf.
At dinner, he slammed his cane against the long table, rattling the silverware. “Th
