ELENA'S POV
The rain hadn’t stopped by the time we moved.
It soaked into my clothes, my hair, my bones, like the city itself was trying to mark us…..claim us before we could escape. Giovanni moved ahead, checking corners, his silhouette sharp and watchful. Dante walked behind us, one hand always hovering too close to the gun at his side.
And Luca…
Luca clung to my hand.
His fingers were cold.
I hated that more than anything.
We slipped through back streets and forgotten service roads, places I’d never known existed in the years I’d lived here. The city I thought I understood unfolded into something else entirely—hidden routes, shadows that swallowed us whole.
This was Dante’s world.
And I was walking my son straight through its heart.
“Mom,” Luca whispered, his voice small in the
