ALLESSANDRO'S POVWe move together like one being. No words pass between us, just small signals: a hand raised, a heel tap, the flash of a light. At the gate, I taste cold iron and remember every funeral and the promises that brought me here. Men take their positions beside me, their faces set with determination. Tonight is straightforward: enter, find, take her back.The drawbridge creaks like old men complaining. Beyond it, the house looms in the dark, a shell of stone and shutters, its windows like blind eyes. One lamp flickers in the main hall, a foolish, defiant thing. That’s where they kept their theater: one light, one audience, one ransom. I move as I always do when blood is involved—methodical, hungry, and afraid. Luciano’s name lingers in my mind like a smoldering coal. My instruction was clear: burn his men out, allow no rest. Orlando thrives on the stage, and theater depends on misdirection.“Teams,” I whisper. “West sweep now. South exits covered. Engines ready on the eas
Last Updated : 2025-11-13 Read more