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Lunetta.

Her dress is ripped and soaked, clinging to her body in bloodstained folds. Her arms are scratched, red streaks slashed across her skin, and her feet—bare, caked in dirt and streaks of red. Her face is streaked with sweat and blood, a thin trickle running from her brow to her chin.

Her eyes lock onto mine—wild, frantic, pleading.

“Don’t get in the car,” she gasps. “They did something to it!”

My gaze narrows.

She stumbles forward, breath coming in broken sobs. Her legs shake with every step. Her hands tremble violently at her sides, and then—before anyone can stop her—she turns.

Her eyes search the ground, darting left and right until she spots a stone the size of a melon near the base of the garden wall.

She runs to it, bends, hoists it up with both hands, and with a scream—launches it at the car.

“Lunetta, wait!” Enzo calls.

Glass shatters with a deafening pop as the rock crashes through the passenger window and lands hard on the seat inside.

“Jesus Christ,” Alfio breathes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Riccardo storms toward her, teeth bared. “You crazy bitch!”

He reaches for her, rage in his hands—

But Enzo’s already there, stepping between them, a hand to Riccardo’s chest.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“She just totaled the car!”

BOOM.

A roar splits the air like thunder, blasting heat and light in a furious pulse as the car erupts in a fireball.

The windshield blasts outward. Metal groans and twists. The hood lifts and flips as flames pour out like a beast from the pit.

Shards of steel and flaming upholstery explode into the sky, lighting the lawn like midday.

“DOWN!” Enzo shouts, yanking Lunetta against his chest and hitting the ground with her in a hard, protective roll.

Alfio throws an arm around Omero and dives behind the hedge.

Riccardo hits the gravel shoulder-first with a curse.

And me?

I just stand there.

Smoke curls past my cheek like a lover’s breath.

The roar fades to a ringing, and I blink as the flaming remains of the car crash back to earth. Bits of metal rain across the lawn, embedding into the grass.

Voices rise in the distance—shouts, screams, gasps from the dinner crowd. Someone runs to fetch help. Others scream for order.

Across the yard, just barely visible through the smoke and flame, I see him.

Bellandi.