Marco's POV
The night air presses heavy against my skin, the garden around the estate deceptively serene. Roses bloom under the dim glow of the lanterns, their scent heavy and sweet. But I'm no fool. Danger isn't seasonal, It's constant. Like the pulse in my veins.
I'm patrolling the perimeter alone — it's a mistake, but I don't want to show weakness. The weight of being the head of the family has taught me to be relentless. Every shadow could be an enemy. Every sound, a whisper of betrayal.
Suddenly, I hear it. The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, careful but deliberate. Someone's out here. I walk into the darkness, blending with the night like a ghost. My hand rests on the grip of the pistol concealed beneath my jacket.
A figure moves between the rose bushes, three of them, actually men. Quiet, coordinated. They don't know I'm here yet, but they're closing in. A shot rings out from the far end of the garden. The sharp crack shatters the night's silence.
