The roar of engines still echoed at the villa’s entrance when Dante stepped out of the car, his strides furious and deliberate. The sun was dying on the horizon, setting the Aspromonte sky ablaze with hues of fire and blood. A warm breeze rustled the cypress treetops, and the distant chirping of crickets began to fill the air with its monotonous hum. But Dante heard none of it.

His head was a storm of dark thoughts, his pulse thudding violently in his temples, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Dealing with the Albanians always left a bitter taste in his mouth. But the phone call he’d received a couple of hours earlier had completely shattered his composure. Olivia had tried to escape with Enzo.

And not just that.

Several traitors from within his own circle had been exposed—and worse, some had gotten away. Loyal men had died. Others were injured.

Dante ripped off his black suit jacket and tossed it onto the leather sofa in the foyer without a second thought, not caring that it wrin