The silence of the Nebrodi Mountains didn't hum; it roared.
Seraphina woke at 3:14 AM—the exact hour the Jura Breach had begun weeks prior. Her eyes snapped open, scanning the vaulted ceiling of the villa’s master suite. There was no red emergency light, no rhythmic pulse of a server, and no smell of ozone. There was only the scent of lavender and the heavy, warm pressure of Alessandro’s arm across her waist.
She lay perfectly still, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her hand instinctively slid under the silk pillow, searching for the cold, reassuring weight of the Glock 19. Her fingers met only empty space and high-thread-count cotton.
A cold sweat broke across her brow. The absence of the weapon felt like a physical amputation. In the dark, the shadows of the h
