Which gives us maybe two hours before the situation becomes untenable. Two hours to turn this ambush into a victory, or we’ll all be dead or in federal custody by dawn.
And both are distinctly unappealing.
My comm crackles to life with reports from my teams as they spread across the battlefield. Half of them are heading to support Siobhan’s people at the Irish stronghold, and the other half are coming with me to reinforce the compound. The discipline in their voices makes me proud. There’s no panic, no confusion, just professional soldiers adapting to changing circumstances.
“Team Alpha, approaching the Irish position. Heavy resistance, but they’re holding the main building,” a voice rings out.
“Team Bravo, two minutes out. Looks like the Calabreses have them pinned in the east wing,” another voice says, cursing.
“All teams, be advised—enemy numbers are higher than initial estimates,” another voice chimes in. “We’re looking at sixty-plus hostiles across all locations.”
I nearly drop my comm. Sixty. FuckingChrist. Dominic is planning to exterminate us all.
The compound comes into view as we round the final corner, and what I see makes me want to rage. The main building is scarred with bullet holes and scorch marks, several outbuildings are completely ablaze.
“Holy fuck,” my driver breathes as the car screeches to a halt. My mouth dries. I never thought I would see the day that the DeLuca mansion has been breached. To me, it’s always been as impenetrable as the family itself.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“There,” I point toward the east wing where flashes bloom like deadly flowers in the darkness. “That’s where they’ve got Matteo’s people pinned for now.”
“Fucking idiots,” one of my men snarls through the comms.
He’s not wrong. The Calabreses have superior numbers and the advantage of surprise, but they’ve made a critical error. They’ve allowed themselves to be drawn into a prolonged siege instead of achieving quick victory. Every minute this battle continues favors the defenders, who know the terrain and have motivation beyond just following orders.
“Alessandro!” The voice cuts through the gunfire as I deploy my teams around the compound’s perimeter. I turn to see Bella emerging from a defensive position near the main house, her face streaked with soot and her hands on an assault rifle that looks incongruous in her artist’s grip.
I don’t know why it always shocks me to see Bella DeLuca handle a gun. She’s proved herself to be an excellent shot, especially since she’s the one who took down Johnny Calabrese. The moment I heard of his passing, I opened up a bottle of scotch I had been saving and toasted to the DeLuca donna for ridding the world of a piece of shit.
Here’s hoping I can take another shot of scotch once we get rid of Dominic fucking Calabrese.
“Where’s Bianca?” I shout back, taking cover behind an overturned vehicle as bullets spark off the concrete around us. “And the children?”
“The children are in the safe room with their nanny. Bianca is in the war room. She’s been coordinating our response since the attack started.” Bella’s voice carries fierce pride even as she returns fire at targets I can’t see. “Alessandro, you should see her work. It’s magnificent.”
I plan on seeing it for myself.
I signal my teams to begin their assault on the Calabrese positions, then work my way toward the main building through cover that consists mostly of burning debris and abandoned vehicles. The compound has been transformed into something from a war movie—broken glass, bullet holes, and the acrid smell of cordite mixing with smoke from a dozen different fires.
But underlying it all is something else: the sound of an organization that refuses to break.
I make it to the war room and it is what I expected—organized chaos that somehow manages to maintain coherence despite the circumstances. Maps cover every surface, marked with red and blue pins that track friendly and enemy positions in real time. Radio chatter fills the air as reports come in from across the battlefield, and in the center of it all stands Bianca.
If this wasn’t a life or death situation, I would whistle appreciatively.
She’s wearing black gear that’s already seen combat—her vest is torn along one shoulder, there’s soot on her face, and her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun that’s partially come undone. But her eyes are bright with focused intensity as she coordinates operations across multiple fronts simultaneously. She’s so focused she doesn’t even notice I’m here.
“Siobhan, I need your people to hold the north corridor for another ten minutes,” she speaks into one comm while studying tablet displays with updates. “Alessandro’s teams are moving to flank their main assault force.”
She switches to another frequency without missing a beat. “Mario, pull your guys back from the warehouse approach.” She pauses, her nose wrinkling at whatever Mario just said. She doesn’t like it. “Look, I know it feels like retreat, but I need you to draw them into the fucking kill zone we set up in the courtyard.” She scowls. “Asshole,” she mutters and it’s unclear if Mario is still on the line.
She moves to a third channel. “Connor, I don’t fucking care if they’re offering surrender terms. This is Dominic Calabresewe’re talking about. Any white flag they’re waving is either a trap or a delay tactic while they reposition.” She paces angrily as she talks to Connor, her movements quick.
Watching her work is mesmerizing. She flows between different communication styles depending on who she’s addressing—sharp and direct when talking to the Irish fighters, psychological and manipulative when dealing with captured enemies, and precise when coordinating with the DeLuca captains.
“Is this a bad time to say that you look way too sexy right now?” I announce my presence, and she whirls toward me. Her mouth drops open and relief pours from her.
“Oh, thank god you’re here,” she breathes, crossing quickly to hug me despite the tactical gear and weapons between us. She presses her lips against mine and I breathe her in, savoring this miniscule moment of normalcy. “They hit us seventeen minutes before we were supposed to move,” she says once we break apart. “There’s been simultaneous strikes on four different locations.”
