Alessio's POV.
The morning light barely cuts through the thick clouds hanging over the villa, but I'm already wide awake - if I ever truly slept at all. My chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on me from the inside. Last night's dreams were a haze of blood, betrayal, and Viktor's smug face.
I have to know. I have to hear it from Viktor himself, because if the Russians really are behind the hit, if they really dared strike at me, then this means war. But something doesn't sit right. Viktor's always been ruthless but not sloppy. Not emotional. This wasn't just business - it was personal.
And that's the part that twists my gut.
Marcello is dead. Gone. A man I called a brother since we were kids. And someone made sure he died screaming. If Viktor ordered it, then it's over b
