“You want money?Power?Name your price.”
He chuckled.“You really are your father’s son.You think everything can be bought except what’s already owned.”
I was sick of playing games.These back and forth tactics were childish.
“My father died believing he was betrayed.Yours let him believe it.And in that lie, he found his crown.Your empire was built on a murder that never had to happen.My father bled in the street while yours drank to peace.Tell me, how does the wine taste now?”
I said nothing.
He went on, softer now, a scalpel instead of a blade.“I’m not coming for your money, Enrico.I’m coming for everything.”Then, like an afterthought: “And bring your wife next time.She should see what the empire looks like when it burns.”
Marco swore under his breath.“You think he knows?—”
“He knows everything.And now, so do I.”
Andre’s head snapped up.“Smoke.”
Flames crawled up the brick.We moved for the exit, fast, controlled.No panic.Outside, the fire spread too quickly to be accidental.It climbed the façade, devouring the words someone had painted in gasoline across the wall:
FEED THE DEAD WHAT THEY’RE OWED.
I stared until the paint curled into ash.
Marco spoke first.“It’s a warning.”
Then there was the faintest shift behind me.I turned.Mia stood, wrapped in my coat, eyes wide but unflinching.“I told you to stay home.”
Her voice was quiet, but steady.“I couldn’t.”
The firelight painted her face in amber and shadow.I took her hand and led her away from the blaze.Behind us, the warehouse collapsed inward with a groan.
36
ENRICO
Black shirt.No tie.A gun beneath my jacket.I was going somewhere dangerous tonight, but needed to be prepared.The Gallo estate had been sealed for decades — condemned, though no official order had ever been filed.A place erased on paper.I holstered the weapon, clipped the knife at my ankle, and caught my reflection in the mirror.A stranger stared back — one my father would’ve recognized.That thought sat in my gut.
Marco entered.“We’ve secured every approach within a three-block radius.Snipers on the northern rooflines, extraction van behind the orchard road.”
“Any chatter from Dante’s side?”
“Just misdirection.”He hesitated, and that alone told me the next words would rot.“But there’s something else.”
I turned.“Say it.”
“One of our comm lines was breached last night,” Marco said.
“Inside the house?”
He nodded once.“Someone’s bleeding intel.”
My pulse slowed.“Find out who.Quietly.”
Marco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.That was the mark of the oldest loyalty — the kind that spoke less and bled more.“You want me with you tonight?”
“No.You’ll run perimeter.If I’m not out by dawn?—”
He cut me off.“You’ll be out.”Then left out of the door.
