~VALENTINO’S POV~
We arrived in Italy under the cover of night, Castello Romano still looking exactly as it did the day I left Milan.
The white marble steps still gleamed under the pale Italian moon, the iron gates still stood like ancient sentinels and the smell of olive trees and distant tobacco still lingered in the stone courtyard.
It had been three months since I walked out of these walls. Three months of chaos, of war, of blood, of near-death experiences.
But tonight, I had returned.
As the black SUV pulled to a halt in the courtyard, the castle guards who patrolled the estate like silent shadows straightened in unison, their eyes widening as they took me in.
Some of them pressed a hand to their chest, heads slightly bowed.
The moment the door opened and I set a foot out of the vehicle, one of the guards broke rank, his hand pressed to his chest with a slight bow.
“Il Diavolo di Milano… is back,” he said reverently.
I stepped out slowly, letting the wind catch my coat as it fell
