Alessio's POV.
Smoke curls into the night sky like a funeral shroud. The scent of scorched metal, gunpowder, and something far worse hangs thick in the air. Flames still lick at the skeletal remains of what used to be one of my most secure strongholds.
My car barely rolls to a stop before I'm out, boots scrunching over broken glass and ash. Sirens scream in the distance, late, useless. My men step back in grim silence, their eyes cast down, none of them dare to meet my gaze.
"Where is he?" My voice is low. Dangerous.
They don't need to answer.
I follow the trail of destruction. Past the burned-out husks of SUVs, past the bodies covered in blood-streaked tarps. Then I see it. Then I see him.
Marcello.
Strung up from the blackened beams like some sick, ritualistic warning. His face ba
