The night is relatively quiet just outside the business gala, save for the muffled, distant thump of bass and laughter spilling from the mansion’s high windows. Parked half a block down the street under the shadow of a sprawling oak tree, the sleek black SUV sits idling in absolute silence.

Inside the vehicle, the division of labor is flawless. Robert sits rigidly in the front passenger seat, his arms crossed over his chest and his analytical gaze locked onto the tactical display map. In the back seat, Paolo remains completely motionless, his dark eyes sweeping the perimeter shadows with quiet, unblinking vigilance.

In the driver's seat, Luke Conti taps a casual, restless rhythm against the leather steering wheel. He watches the front doors of the mansion with a relaxed, easy grin, completely unfazed by the high-society chaos inside.

Suddenly, the grand front doors swing open. A silhouette appears at the top of the marble steps.

Robert exhales a sharp, silent breath, immediately adjusting his earpiece. In the back, Paolo's frame shifts, his focus instantly locking onto the exit route.

Luke simply chuckles, killing the engine with a flick of his wrist and throwing the car door open. He steps out into the cool night air, tall and broad-shouldered in his tailored suit, a playful, familiar smile flashing across his features as he walks toward the edge of the driveway, keeping a respectful, comfortable distance.

"Well, look who finally decided the party was over," Luke calls out, his relaxed tone laced with his signature Italian charm. "Quiet night in there, principessa, or did you manage to stir up trouble before the second course? Come on—let's get you into the back before Robert starts calculating the exact probability of an ambush out of sheer boredom."