The gunfire had finally stopped, but silence didn’t bring peace. It brought the smell of smoke, the echo of screams, and the copper sting of blood thick in the air. The Colombo mansion—once a symbol of power—now looked like the ruins of war. Bodies sprawled across marble floors, walls riddled with bullet holes, crystal chandeliers reduced to shattered glass.

And in the middle of it all, Gabriele sat slumped against a pillar, one hand clamped over his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, dark and steady, pooling at his side. Ruhi froze at the sight. For a split second, instinct screamed at her to run. But she didn’t. Her feet moved on their own.