The barrel of the gun glimmered beneath the streetlamp, unshakeable in the grip of the masked man. Matteo tensed, positioning his body just in front of Isla. The engine of the SUV hummed low and steady, like a predator in an ambush. The voice of the masked figure sliced through the tension again —
"Get in. Now."
Matteo studied the man's face, or what little he could see of it. "You're not one of ours."
The man didn't flinch. "You have five seconds."
Isla dug her fingers into his arm. "Matteo…"
With one sweeping motion, Matteo shuffled Isla behind him and reached for the small blade concealed in his jacket. He lunged forward — not toward the SUV but sideways — shoving Isla into the narrow alley just before a deafening crack tore through the air. A bullet grazed the wall where his head had been.
They ran, Isla tripping next to him, the bottom of her soft shoes slick against the cobblestones. The gunfire erupted behind them and Matteo was afraid to look back.
"This way!" he said, leading her through a passage between two rundown stone buildings. He knew these alleys — Rome's old quarter was a labyrinth of secrets, every one of them memorized after Isla's father had first threatened to have him watched.
They came out onto a side street and met the blinding glow of fire.
Matteo's heart sank.
Not far away, over the iron gates and sprawling walls of the Caruso estate, flames danced in the night sky. The family crest over the gate was backlit in red and gold, the proud lion engulfed in smoke. Sirens blared, but they were distant. Too late.
"No," Isla gasped.
Her knees gave, and Matteo caught her before she fell to the ground. "We have to move," he urged.
But she had already whirled away, wild eyes trained on the inferno. "My brothers — Enzo and Luca — they were inside!
"I know," he said grimly. "So that's why we can't go back in head first. It's a trap."
Even as he said it, the truth scratched at his throat. He hadn't seen this coming — not so soon and not so violently. A compromise in the estate's security? Maybe. But to turn their own defense systems against them? That wasn't just betrayal. It was intimate knowledge.
"Who would do this?" Isla whispered, shaking.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because he had already begun to rise up in his mind like bile — someone from inside.
An explosion ripped through the east wing of the estate, sending clouds of powdery debris high into the air like fireworks. The blast wave hit them hard. Isla shrieked, hurled back, and Matteo just about managed to cover for her —THE BLOOD.
They landed hard. Coughing, he fought to push up on trembling arms as smoke stung his eyes. Isla was next to him, dazed but breathing.
"I'm fine," she rasped before he'd even had a chance to ask. "Matteo—look!"
He followed her gaze.
Through a haze of smoke, just beyond wrought iron gates, silhouettes moved — dark figures in fatigues, the kind not worn by ordinary security. They were masked, efficient. Matteo winced as he watched two of them drag a body across the gravel courtyard.
It was Enzo. He was streaked with blood, a red blotch trailing a floppy arm.
"No," Isla screamed, attempting to get up.
Matteo caught her. "You can't."
"They're killing them! That's my brother—"
"They'll kill you as well," he said angrily. "Isla, listen to me. We need to disappear now. We find Dario. We regroup."
But Isla was watching the massacre unfold. The other body crumpled by the fountain—Luca. Murdered trying to save a maid, if Matteo read the motion correctly. His body twitched once. Then nothing.
Isla emitted a guttural, pained scream. Matteo clenched his teeth, fighting her, as he swept in behind, grabbing her arms. "Let me go!"
"They'll see you!"
"I don't care! They're my family—"
"And you're all that's left," Matteo said, voice low and steady in her ear. "You think your father would want you charging into gunfire?"
That struck her. Her body went rigid, sobs catching in her throat.
"We'll find out who did this. I swear it. But not by dying here tonight."
For a moment, only the roar of fire and the crack of collapsing beams spanned the air between them. Matteo felt her tremble. Then slowly, she nodded.
He led her from the place, down the western slope that ran toward the old vineyard path. Now it was overgrown, lost to most. But it had an exit that led directly to the old Roman aqueduct tunnels — routes his grandfather had traversed during the war and that Matteo had rediscovered out of some paranoid sense of curiosity.
As they neared the bottom of the hill, Matteo turned to look back.
The Caruso estate was also swallowed up now. The bell tower of the family chapel crumbled in a spark shower. The lion crest above the gate crumbled with it, breaking in two as it struck the stone courtyard.
The end of a legacy.
Matteo gritted his teeth and made himself move. Isla trailed behind, dazed but unspeaking.
They crawled through the pottery-stuffed, narrow tunnel under the vines. Matteo switched on the emergency flashlight he had in his pocket, the beam stretching long shadows across wet stone walls.
They walked for what seemed like forever.
When they reached the chamber where the tunnel split, Matteo slowed. The tunnel opened here to form a circular room lined with crates long go forgotten and rusted equipment.
"We rest here," he said. "Ten minutes. Then we contact Dario."
Isla collapsed onto an overturned crate, her arms around her knees. Her face was streaked with ash, her gaze steely.
"They used our security codes," she said in a hoarse voice. "They were given access by someone who was close."
"I know."
"And you still believe it is someone in the family?"
Matteo met her gaze. "I think it's someone you wouldn't suspect.
She inhaled sharply. "You mean someone like me."
"No," he replied, walking across the chamber. He crouched beside her. "I trust you. I always have."
A flicker of warmth crossed between them for the first time. Her hand found his.
But the moment shattered just as quickly.
There was a low click from behind them in the tunnel. Matteo sprang to his feet, flashlight held high.
Into the shadows stepped a figure — unmasked, eyes twinkling with familiarity.
"Get away from her, Romano," the man said, aiming a gun.
Matteo's heart stilled.
It was Angelo Caruso. Isla's cousin. The one that nobody had seen in months. The one who had supposedly run off to Europe to escape the family business.
Except now he was here. Pointing a gun at Matteo's head.
And smiling.