When we finally open the reinforced door, Sasha, Vito, and Pippa are standing on the other side, guns still in hand, eyes scanning the hall.
Vito nods at Igio’s limp body. "We have a suitable room for this one."
"Good," I say. "Let's go make sure it’s one he won’t enjoy."
Sasha turns to me, "Have you called Stephano yet?"
"I haven't." An idea occurs to me, and I grin wickedly. "You call him. But…"
He arches a brow.
"Make him sweat for a second," I whisper. "Consider it payback for assuming tea with the girls would be boring."
Sasha chuckles appreciatively. "Da, boss."
We descend the steps of the DeLuna mansion—with my new little army of Italian women behind me, adrenalinebuzzing in their veins—and I realize something: These women are dangerous in ways their husbands don’t even see.
This might turn out to be more fun than I thought.
She’s alright.Sasha’s words keep echoing in the back of my skull, but the fear hasn’t drained out of my veins yet. I hurl an expensive crystal glass against Marcello’s even more expensive wall. It shatters. Nobody reacts. Three other glasses already died violent deaths.
We thought our women would be safe at Toni’s mansion. We were wrong. The traitors are in our midst. How the fuck do you protect against that?
"We can’t kill them all," Marcello repeats, his answer to my first, very reasonable suggestion. He gives me a look. "Jesus, Stephano. When did you become so fucking ruthless?"
I drag a hand through my hair. Probably around the time I met Oksana, but I’m not admitting that out loud. And as much as I hate it, he’s right. No, we can’t kill them all.Some of these men died defending our home today. Their loyalty wasn’t the problem.
"If they’re hiding within Toni’s men, they’re everywhere," Enrico mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks sick. We all do.
At least he talked to Cat.
I got Sasha.
The bastard almost gave me a heart attack. No doubt on Oksana’s instructions. And he enjoyed every second. Suddenly, my mind pivots sideways, cold, calculating. Raf’s does too.
Our eyes meet.
Firewall.
The unspoken word snaps between us like a live wire.
"I need to see Sophia first," Raf's voice is tight.
I nod. I understand. I feel the same magnetic pull toward Toni’s mansion, toward Oksana. I need to see her with my own eyes, hold her, make sure she’s really unharmed.
"We’ll take Oksana," I tell him. "She’ll be useful."
He nods his agreement. I learned during the Caracas trip how Raf and Oksana met, and I know he has the same appreciation of her skills that I do. I only ask, "Your place or mine?"
Smugness flickers across his face, cleaning the worry lines for a moment. "Mine. You haven’t seen it yet. And not tobrag, but I own a few things that will make you green with envy."
He’s probably right. Ever since I pieced together who Raf really was—not his parentage, but his empire—I’ve been torn between killing him and admiring him. There were moments when killing him was very, very tempting. Like the day Marcello told me Raf had taken Sophia. In that moment, I regretted not putting a bullet in him when I had the chance.
Not because I feared him, but because I knew exactly what Marcello was feeling. The agony of chasing shadows, hoping one of them is your brother.
But back then? I didn’t think Raf running his little Omertà Infernale was a threat. He was cleaning our streets for us. As long as he never touched La Famiglia, I could tolerate his methods. Hell, sometimes I appreciated them. And even when Omertà was linked to Igor Pavlov—even after Igor tried to kill Marcello twice—I still kept my mouth shut.
Why?
