THIRTY-THREE
The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of espresso and gun oil. The dimly lit study in Francesco's estate had become their war room—a place where plans were made, lives were decided, and tonight, a trap was set. Enzo stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it could snap. He hadn't spoken in minutes, not since Camilla offered herself as bait. Francesco sat across from him, swirling a drink lazily in his glass, watching his friend silently unravel. Camilla, standing near the grand desk covered in maps and notes, tried not to let the weight of Enzo's silence shake her. She had expected him to resist this plan. She had expected his temper. But this was something else. Francesco finally sighed, breaking the silence. "We all knew Aleks wouldn't come
- Writer
