At zero-six-thirty hours, the alarm klaxons blared in the lower corridors of the Hudson Heights villa. Marco was out of bed before the third pulse of the siren, pulling on tactical cargo trousers and reaching for his sidearm with the honed reflexes of a soldier. Elena sat up instantly, throwing a silk robe around her shoulders, her senses alert and clear. The door to the master suite burst open. Matteo…
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