The resemblance between them is uncanny at this moment.
“I’m proud that you’ll succeed me. Not because you have to, but because youdeserveto. Because you’ve earned it through your strength and intelligence and courage.” His voice breaks slightly. “Because I can’t imagine anyone better suited to carry on what we’ve built.”
Bianca’s mouth falls open, all her careful control dissolving in the face of his raw love and pride.
“Da—Matteo,” she whispers, and for the first time since the trials began, she sounds like the nineteen-year-old she is rather than the hardened leader she’s becoming.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he says simply. “Whatever happens, whatever choices you make, that will never change.”
He kisses her forehead, holds her for one more moment, then steps back and walks out of the room without another word.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Bianca stands frozen where he left her, tears streaming down her face, her composure finally shattered by the one thing that could break through her defenses.
A father’s unconditional love.
I want to go to her, to offer comfort, but something tells me this moment belongs to her alone.
Instead, I watch from across the room as she processes everything—the weight of his pride, the burden of his expectations, the terrible knowledge that tomorrow might be the last time he sees her alive.
When she finally looks at me, her eyes are red but determined.
“We’re going to succeed,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that wasn’t there before. Not just resolve, but purpose. “I’m not going to let him down.”
“Wewon’t let him down,” I correct gently.
She nods, wiping at her eyes. “Yes. We won’t let him down.”
But even as I say the words, even as I believe them with everything I have, I can’t shake the feeling that tomorrow is going to test us in ways none of our planning has prepared for.
And I’m terrified that it won’t be enough.
21
ALESSANDRO
The next morning arrives gray and bitter, New York’s sky the color of old pewter with snow threatening in the heavy clouds.
My hands are steady as I check my weapons—Glock 19 in my shoulder holster, backup piece at my ankle, two extra magazines, ceramic body armor under my coat—but inside, my nerves are stretched taut as piano wire.
I’ve been in countless dangerous situations over the years.
I’ve faced federal raids, rival family wars, assassination attempts that should have ended my life.
But nothing has ever felt like this—this crushing weight of knowing that the woman I love is walking into a trap designed specifically to destroy her.
Bianca moves around our hotel room with calm efficiency, checking her own equipment with the kind of methodical precision that would be reassuring if I didn’t know how much was riding on every decision we make today.
She’s wearing black tactical gear that transforms her from elegant heiress into lethal operative—fitted body armor, thigh holster, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that won’t interfere with her sight lines.
She looks ready for war.
“Transport leaves in fifteen minutes,” I tell her, though she already knows the timeline by heart.
“I know.” Her voice is steady, controlled. But I catch that subtle head tilt again, the slight pause as if she’s listening to something I can’t hear. “Are Matteo’s people in position?”
“All twenty-four, plus our own support team,” I respond. “We have eyes on every street between the safe house and the courthouse.” I move to the window, studying the street below for any sign of surveillance or unusual activity. “If this goes sideways, help will be thirty seconds away.”
