The commotion on the estate could’ve come straight out of an action movie. Dante’s men moved in tactical formation, weapons drawn, sweeping every corner of the villa with military precision. The thud of doors banging open, short, sharp orders, the barking of tracking dogs, and the pounding of heavy boots against the ground created a symphony of organized chaos.

Helicopters hovered overhead, kicking up dust with each descent, while the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the mansion grounds. And yet, despite the intensity of the search—they found nothing.

No body.

No blood.

Dante closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tight as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. He believed Svetlana. She had no reason to lie about something like this.

Which meant that if the body had vanished… someone inside his own house had made it disappear.

A traitor. Or more than one.

The search dragged on into the late afternoon. The air was thick with tension, suspicion, the creeping certainty that someon