She’s the queen I'm building a kingdom for.
And she iswith him.
"Raffael?" Stephano calls out.
I grit my teeth, straighten, and flex my bruised knuckles.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Lost my temper."
He glances at the hole in the wall but doesn’t comment. Just nods and walks past me, his mind already shifting to whatever digital war we are fighting today.
I like Stephano. He doesn't ask questions. Our relationship is based on mutual respect, not on personal matters.
We’ve been working side by side for months, fingers flying across keys like dual snipers behind enemy lines. He’s a better strategist than Carlos ever was. And he trusts me more than I expected, which is why Ilethim buy me from Carlos last year. On paper, it was a transfer of labor. In reality, it was an escape hatch I’d earned through blood and code.
By the time we reach the command center, I’ve shoved Sophia into the steel vault in my brain where I keep the memories that hurt too much to bleed out.
The door hisses shut behind us, sealing off the world. Here, in this subterranean war room, the air is different. Cool. Sterile. The hum of processors thrums under the floor like a second heartbeat. My body still feels too tight, my thoughts too loud. But at least in here, I know the rules. I know what I’m fighting.
I slide into the seat across from Stephano. He’s already got the first screen pulled up, the sharp glow of code illuminates his face in white and electric blue. His eyes flick to me, one brow raised.
"You good?"
I nod once.
"Let’s fry some snakes," he says.
The Venezuelans. That’s today’s target—specifically, Matías Rivera and his boss's ghost network. We launch simultaneous penetration attacks, me from one end of the system, Stephano from the other. Two clean injects, encrypted probes, flooding into the outer shell of their mainframe.
"Firewall just rerouted," I murmur, watching the heat signature shift on the map.
"Redirecting," Stephano says, typing like a machine. "I’ve got a patch under their data node. Going in from the left—wait—fuck."
He leans back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. "They just torched my shell. Full firewall reversal. I’m locked out."
I frown, my own keys still clacking. "That fast?"
"Like they saw me coming before I logged on."
I shift tactics, switch protocols, burrow into a quieter sublayer. But then, I, too, hit a brick wall. No error code. No rejection message. Just… nothing. I sit back slowly. "They scrubbed my signal. Shit."
Stephano scrubs a hand down his face. "These assholes aren’t just running a cartel. They’ve got state-level cyber defense."
I nod, watching the static on the screen like it might offer a way back in.
"Remind me," I rub my chin. "Why are we digging through their shit again?"
Stephano doesn’t answer immediately. He walks over to the espresso machine in the corner and fires it up, like he needs something bitter to go with what he’s about to say. "You heard about the accountant, right?"
I glance up sharply. "Toni’s guy?"
"Yeah. Alfonzo. The one who handled La Famiglia's finances. He was kidnapped outside a friend's house a few days ago. He and his wife."
"Shit, I heard something yesterday, but nothing specific," I admit, stretching the truth just a little. Then, for good measure, I add the next part as a question. "It was the Venezuelans?"
Stephano sets the espresso down untouched and nods. "The wife was tortured to death in front of him. We assume he cracked and told the Venezuelans everything. Toni had to clean it up himself."
Toni—Antonio DeLuna—is the new capo of the DeLuna family. His father was killed in the middle of a dinner by Carlos. That massacre reverberated all the way down my totem pole, so of course Omertà Infernale dug into it. That’s the sort of thing I specialize in. When a capo breaks the code of Omertà, we follow the paper trail until the rot shows itself.
