She waves a dismissive hand. “We hit them hard and fast. Overwhelming force, maximum casualties in minimum time. Clean sweep.”
The casual brutality in her voice makes my stomach clench. “That’s not strategy, Bianca. That’s just violence.”
“Sometimes violenceisthe strategy.” She stands, moving to the window that overlooks the city. “Giuseppe didn’t build his empire through careful planning and risk assessment. He built it by being more ruthless than anyone else.”
And there it is—the Giuseppe influence surfacing exactly as Matteo predicted.
I can practically hear his harsh voice in her words, see his brutal pragmatism in her posture.
“Giuseppe also made enemies who eventually brought him down,” I point out carefully. “Overwhelming violence works in the short term, but it creates long-term problems.”
“Does it? Because from what I can see, the DeLuca family is still standing. Still powerful. Still feared.” She turns back to face me, and there’s something cold in her blue eyes that makes me remember exactly whose daughter she is. “Maybe the problem isn’t Giuseppe’s methods. Maybe the problem is that Matteo’s been too soft to use them properly.”
The criticism of Matteo hits harder than it should, partly because there’s truth in it that I don’t want to acknowledge.
Matteo’s careful approach the last few years has kept the family stable, but it’s also made them vulnerable to challenges like the current situation with the Families.
“Matteo’s methods kept you alive,” I say quietly.
“Matteo’s methods kept meprotected. There’s a difference.” She moves back to the desk, spreading out the warehouseplans. “Protection is for children, Alessandro. I’m not a child anymore.”
I watch her trace potential entry points with her finger, noting how she favors the most direct routes—straight through the front, maximum confrontation, minimal subtlety.
Every instinct I have is screaming warnings about this approach.
“These men aren’t going to line up to be shot,” I tell her. “They’re armed, they’re desperate, and they have nothing to lose. A frontal assault gets people killed.”
“Yes. Them.” Her smile is sharp, vicious. “That’s the point.”
Does she even hear herself? I’m surprised my jaw isn’t on the floor. “I’m talking about us getting killed, Bianca. You charge in there guns blazing, and we won’t walk out alive.”
“We will if we’re better than they are.” She meets my gaze directly, unflinching. “Are you saying you don’t think we’re better than they are?”
The challenge in her voice is unmistakable, and I realize she’s testing me—not just my tactical judgment, but my confidence in our abilities, my willingness to support her choices even when they contradict everything I know about successful operations.
“I’m saying being better doesn’t make us invincible,” I reply evenly. “It just means we’re more likely to survive if we plan properly.”
“Fine.” She pulls out a pen and starts marking the warehouse plans. “Here’s the plan. We hit them at midnight when the civilian workers are gone. I take the main entrance, you cover the back exit. We work our way through systematically until they’re all dead.”
Jesus Christ, she’s acting like a fucking child. I want to pull my hair out. “That’snota plan, that’s a suicide mission.” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice anymore. “You’re talking about walking into a killing field with seven armed men who know we’re coming.”
“I’m talking about showing the Families that I don’t need anyone’s protection.” Her voice is sharp, defensive. “That I can handle whatever they throw at me without hiding behind careful strategies and contingency plans.”
“There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid!”
The words come out harsher than I intended, and I watch her face close off completely.
The temperature in the room seems to drop as she straightens to her full height, every line of her body radiating offense.
“Excuse me?” Bianca asks softly.
The look in her eye is identical to the one Matteo wears before he kills someone, but I am beyond the point of caring. “You heard me. This isn’t about proving you’re capable—it’s about satisfying some need to prove you’re as ruthless as Giuseppe was. And that’s going to get us both killed.”
“Don’t.” Her voice turns deadly quiet. “Don’t youdarelecture me about what this is or isn’t about. You don’t get to psychoanalyze my motivations.”
“Someone has to, because you’re not thinking clearly.” I stand as well, moving around the desk to face her directly. “You’re so focused on proving you can embrace violence that you’re ignoring basic sense.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Basic sense—according to who? You? Matteo?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re both so terrified of what I’m becoming that you want to keep me locked in the same careful, controlled box that’s kept the DeLuca family stagnant for the past decade.”
