The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful—it was sharp, crackling with the kind of tension that left bruises. Alessia sat on the edge of the hotel bed, blood crusted beneath her fingernails, her dress torn from the chaos of the night. The low hum of the minibar was the only sound in the room, a mechanical breath reminding her the world hadn’t stopped even though hers had detonated hours ago.
She hadn’t meant to kill him.
But the glass had shattered, her scream had rung through the marble hallway, and his skull had cracked against the edge of the fountain. Blood had mixed with chlorinated water, turning the pristine courtyard into a crime scene.
Now his phone was burning in her palm.
Her fingers trembled as she flipped through the last messages—encrypted coordinates, photos of her from
