Alessia didn’t sleep.
She sat on the edge of Lorenzo’s bed long after dawn, her hands shaking, her blood cold. The note was still crumpled in her palm, her father’s cruel handwriting burning into her skin like a brand.
Trade her back or they all die.
She’d seen her father kill before. Seen him wipe out entire families for less than betrayal. But this—threatening Lorenzo’s men to take her back?
This was something else.
This was war.
Lorenzo hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday.
He disappeared into his study, door locked, surrounded by silence and armed men. Matteo gave her sideways glances, the guards wouldn’t meet her eyes, and even the house itself felt different—colder, angrier.
She wasn’t the outsider anymore.
She was the enemy.
When the door finally creaked open, and Lorenzo
