The morning broke like a blade through velvet.
Palermo shimmered in the distance as the private jet descended, its sun-washed coast deceptively peaceful.
But peace was a mask Sienna no longer believed in.
She could feel the tension beneath the surface, a current of violence waiting to surge.
Inside the cabin, silence reigned.
Ari was loading weapons with mechanical precision, her jaw tight.
Luciano sat across from Sienna, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on her like he was still memorizing her every breath.
She didn’t look away.
“Once we land,” he said, voice low, “we have less than an hour before the meeting at the Caligari estate.”
“That’s where they’re hiding?” she asked, slipping on a thin black glove over her left hand—the one that still bore the faint mark of the serpent
