Serafina’s POV
San Verità’s western quarter didn’t announce itself as enemy territory. It hid behind respectability.
The car Vittorio stole rolled to a stop beneath the flickering amber lights of Via Calderón, a stretch of old-money apartments pressed between a closed-law firm and a wine distributor that laundered more than profit. This district belonged to the Bianchi syndicate, Luca's allies.
I stepped out first.
The air smelled like baked bread and car exhaust, warm and wrong for a place that could kill us if we misstepped. Somewhere nearby, a café was closing. Chairs scraped. Laughter floated into the street, careless and untouched by the war tearing San Verità apart.
That scared me more than gunfire ever had.
Matteo scanned the street with sharp, economical movements, his presen
