I slipped out silently, crouching beside the car to stay unseen. Frankie jerked his head towards the left lawn. I melted into the shadows, keeping low and moving swiftly until I found a statue of a naked woman to hide behind. Frankie and his sons were already moving into the mansion, laughing and joking with the soldiers on duty as if nothing were amiss.
The mansion was an over-the-top display of pretentiousness, with manicured lawns, thick marble pillars and a pristine white finish. Who the fuck did this prick think he was? The president? I spotted the north wing and the balcony on the thirdfloor, overlooking the empty courtyard. I glanced at my watch. Fourteen minutes.
I took a few minutes to watch the guards on patrol, tracking their patterns for an opening. Then I climbed. Clawing my way up a stone pillar, shoving my boots into any tiny crevices and keeping my body tight against the marble. I was finally high enough to reach for a windowpane and shimmy along, grabbing the balcony. I swung myself up and silently rolled over the stone wall, crouching behind it. Fuck. I took a moment to catch my breath and checked my watch. Four fifty-six. Four minutes to go.
I peered over the edge of the balcony to scope the courtyard below. There was an empty outdoor seating area. Getting myself into position, I set up my aim, checked that I had a clear shot at each of those chairs, whichever Joey might choose, and waited.
A few minutes after five, he appeared, pacing outside in his open silk robe and boxers. His brown hair was still ruffled from sleep as he sat in a chair, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Fuck, he was young. The irony didn’t escape me. An inexperienced Don, his father murdered, an empire on his shoulders, paranoid beyond belief because his enemies wanted him dead. I was looking in the mirror at my past self.
A maid appeared and set his coffee down. He didn’t acknowledge her or look up from his phone. Four soldiers surrounded him, standing stoically.
I checked the rifle in silence one last time. Bolt. Scope. Stabilizer.
He reached for his coffee, bringing it to his lips.
One deep breath in. One deep breath out.
Three… Two… One.
The bullet passed cleanly through Joey’s skull, snapping him back into his chair with a loud, wet thud. Blood spattered across the stone courtyard. The serene morning silence erupted into chaos.
“Down!” the soldiers shouted, lifting their guns and crouching, searching for me. My fingers pressed against the trigger with fluidity, firing two more shots. Two soldiers dead.
The mansion roared to life with shouting, heavy footfalls and alarms. A bullet whizzed past me. I’d been spotted. I moved, slinging my rifle over my back and grabbing my handgun as I vaulted over the balcony wall and landed on the roof of a stone arch below. Pain sliced through my ribs, but I scrambled to my feet and ran along the tiled roof as footsteps thundered all around me.
“He’s on the roof!”
“Left side!”
“Seal the gates!”
My lungs burned and my muscles screamed as I sprinted faster, ducking bullets whizzing past. One grazed my arm, spraying blood everywhere, but I didn’t feel a fucking thing. Only adrenaline and the determination to survive as long as I could. I reached the final stretch of the roof and leapt, grabbing a drainpipe and sliding down until I hit the ground hard.
Joey’s men swarmed, most on foot and chasing me across the lawn, while two SUVs rampaged up the drive, windows down and guns firing. I’d never run so fucking fast in my life, zig-zagging and leaping over bushes.
A gunshot slammed into the tree in front of me. Another tore through the air, inches from my head, its hiss echoing in my ears.
The tall metal fencing was up ahead, but so were more of his men. I pivoted and sprinted along the perimeter wall as my lungs threatened to collapse. Then I was down, my body skidding through the mud with a bullet in my thigh. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut against the pain. I tried to get back to my feet, but I already knew it was over.
Rough hands seized me. Someone yanked my hood down, forcing me to my knees on the grass and fastening my wrists behind my back with cable ties. My thigh burned, and I panted through the pain as one of Joey’s men spat in my face.
“Italian scum,” he snarled, punching me in the jaw, then drawing his gun on me and shoving it against my forehead.
I stared up at him, refusing to cower or beg. In that moment, it felt strange that I had once feared death so much I had let it rule my life. I’d been running from this moment for what? It was inevitable. It would always find me, as it finds us all. And I realised far too late that I didn’t fear death at all. I feared not living while I had the chance. So many fucking regrets.
“Wait!”
The soldier stepped back at Frankie’s order.
His dark eyes met mine. Calm, composed, with a hint of satisfaction no one else would notice. He’d got what he wanted. The war had just ended. Bloodshed would stop. He’d become Don. And I’d become the martyr.
“That’s no Italian scum,” Frankie hissed, crouching to glare at me with a convincingly fake display of hatred and anger over his murdered nephew. “We have Italian royalty among us. Don Enzo Aiani.”
I spat blood at him, ruining his designer suit. His nostrils flared. “Joey ordered the murder of my cousin. My consigliere. A life for a life.”
He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. “And does your king know you're here?”
“No,” I growled. I knew what he was doing. Setting up the scene for a truce with Italy. All the blame would fall on me, not Alessio. “I came for myself. Don Barbieri refused to help me with my vengeance.”
