As the wedding ended, the reception was set to be on beach.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach, the reception was in full swing. The soft sound of waves mingled with laughter and music as guests enjoyed the evening. Rowan stood near the edge of the festivities, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, but his mind was elsewhere, focused on the figure dancing in between.
Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Rowan frowned as he glanced at the screen, recognizing the number immediately. It was Elio Bianchi’s assistant. Without hesitation, he answered.
“What is it?” Rowan’s voice was low, edged with impatience.
“Falcone,” the voice on the other end said, trembling slightly. “Elio... Elio is dead.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. He turned on his heel,
