Outside, the battle for lower Manhattan rages on, explosions lighting up the pre-dawn darkness as three different armies clash in the streets. But inside this war room, watching Bianca prepare to unleash whatever plan she’s been holding in reserve, I realize that the real war is just beginning.
And god help anyone who underestimated what she’s capable of when her back is against the wall.
26
BIANCA
The third wave hits us like a fucking tsunami.
Through the displays, I watch as military-grade vehicles pour into the compound from every direction. These aren’t Calabrese street soldiers anymore—these are professionals with tactical gear, coordinated movements, and firepower that makes the night sky look like the Fourth of July.
Kill them all,Giuseppe’s voice roars in my head, his fury matching the explosions that rock the building around us.Show no mercy. Burn them all.
Make them suffer first,Sophia whispers coldly.Let them understand what they’ve brought down on themselves.
You need to end this efficiently,Matteo’s voice cuts through both of them, providing a voice of reason even as the walls shake around us.Minimal collateral damage. Preserve what we can.
For a moment, I stand frozen in the center of the room, three different approaches warring in my mind while the battle ragesoutside. Giuseppe demands overwhelming brutality. Sophia wants psychological torture. Matteo counsels strategic precision.
What to do. What to do. What todo.
Then I see Alessandro nearly vibrating with impatience, clearly wanting to head back into the firefight, and suddenly all three voices align into perfect harmony.
Protect what matters most.
“The east wing is collapsing,” Alessandro mentions, studying the displays. “We need to reinforce the main courtyard or they’ll break through our center.”
Bless him for helping me make my decision, even if it is inadvertent.
“Then that’s where we go,” I decide, grabbing my gear. “If we’re going to make a stand, it should be where everyone can see us fighting.”
We move quickly through the compound’s corridors, gathering soldiers as we go. The main courtyard is chaos—smoke, gunfire, and the acrid smell of explosives filling the air. But it’s also where most of our people have taken positions, using the fountain and landscaping for cover.
Alessandro positions himself near the center of the courtyard, coordinating our defensive lines while I work on flanking maneuvers. Our people can see both of us, fighting alongside them instead of hiding in the safety of the war room.
“Bianca!” he calls out over the gunfire, his face smeared with soot and blood. “I need you to coordinate the retreat routes. If this goes completely sideways?—”
“We’renotretreating,” I interrupt firmly, moving toward him across the open space of the courtyard. “We’re going to break them here and now.”
“You don’t understand.” He grabs my arm as I reach him, his voice urgent and his eyes searching mine. “This isn’t just about winning anymore. This is about?—”
The sharp crack of a rifle cuts through his words. In slow motion, I watch the bullet travel through the air and hit Alessandro. It punches through his chest with a wet, tearing sound that makes me scream. The impact drives him backward, and I watch in horror as blood erupts from both the entry wound in his chest and the larger exit wound in his back.
The world seems to stop and I’m frozen in shock before time speeds up again and I’m faced with the realization that Alessandrohas been shot.
“Alessandro!” I scream, catching him as he collapses completely in the middle of the courtyard, his weight nearly taking us both down to the stone pavement. “No!”
Around us, the battle seems to pause for a heartbeat as our soldiers see their leader fall. Blood is everywhere—soaking through his vest, spreading in a rapidly growing pool beneath us, covering my hands as I frantically search for the source of the worst bleeding. His breathing comes in short, shallow gasps, each exhale accompanied by a horrible wet rattling sound that tells me the bullet hit his lung.
NO,all three voices roar in unison, their fury so intense it makes my vision blur with hot tears of rage.NOT HIM. NOT ALESSANDRO.
“Stay with me,” I gasp, pressing both hands against the chest wound as blood pulses hot and thick between my fingers. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you fuckingdare.”
His hazel eyes are unfocused, pupils dilated with shock and blood loss. When he tries to speak, pink foam bubbles at the corners of his mouth. “Bianca…I can’t…can’t breathe…”
“Save your strength,” I snarl, but my voice cracks completely and a sob rips through my mouth. He’s dying. Right here in my arms, in front of everyone, the man I love more than life itself is dying, and I can’t stop it.
Every soldier in the courtyard can see what’s happening. They watch their future donna holding her partner as he bleeds out from a sniper’s bullet, and I can feel their shock and rage building around us.
