And somehow… this is normal.
Raf turns his gaze to me. "Stephano. Cybercrime?"
"Mine," I say. "Fraud dies. The Russians get the scraps. Oksana and I handle security, intel, digital infiltration… everything your Umbra Arcana started."
That earns me the smallest smirk from him. He inclines his head. "Perfect."
The table absorbs the words. The weight. The shift. For the first time in decades, we’re not fighting the future. We’re designing it.
From Oksana’s screen, I catch a glimpse of something familiar, the login architecture from Cappella del Corvo. The hymn system we killed. The Cells we eradicated. All of them gone. At least from La Famiglia.
Grigori has his own purge ahead.
And Camilla is still digging through Donna Margarita’s things. God only knows what else she’ll uncover. That woman was a black hole of secrets, lies, and vendettas. If Camilla finds anything else tied to Venezuela… or Viktor… or Alexei…
We’re not done.
Not even close.
And the wives… I hide my smile when I think of theircommittee. Their investigation board, their secret meetings, but most of all: their terrifying efficiency. I don’t envy the men whose wives blindsided them. But I respect the hellout of the women for what they did. Oksana is part of that circle now, too.
Which means they’re going to be even more dangerous. They've even invited Grigori's and Massimo's wives to join them.
Raf steeples his hands. "Then it’s settled. La Famiglia becomes smarter, more powerful. We trade vice for leverage. Blood for influence. Chaos for strategy."
Marcello raises a brow. "And violence?"
"Oh," Raf says mildly, "violence stays."
Toni laughs. Enrico shakes his head. Marcello grins. Oksana looks proud.
And me?
I sit back, watching them—this new table, this new era—and something unfamiliar settles in my chest.
Hope.
Raf lifts his glass. "To the future of La Famiglia."
We echo him.
Glasses clink.
Old shadows fade.
And a new empire begins. Until I notice Oksana blanching. Nobody but me would have seen it. But it's there. Her mouth forms the words:We need to talk. And cold dread runs through me.
Glasses clink,my eyes move to the wall, and for some reason, I see a different wall. In my mind, I see Cat moving forward, picking something off the wall, and handing it to me.Camilla found it going through her grandma’s things.At the time, I was too occupied to think about Camilla, but now, it hits me all at once. Something cold slides down my spine. A realization. A threat. A name written in blood across the future. Hergrandma's stuff…her grandma, as in Margarita Giordano, as in Margarita Viktorovna Voronina.
Camilla Giordano is a Voronin.
How the hell have we overlooked that so far?
Even if she wasn't raised or trained like one. Even if she isn't aware of it, blood is blood.
And Voronin blood is never neutral. I close my laptop and touch Stephano’s wrist. "Outside. Now."
He doesn’t question; he knows my tone. He follows me out of the glass doors and into the private terrace of Zanello Tower. The wind is snapping at my hair and fighting the flame of my lighter. Manhattan is stretching out beneath us like a glittering battlefield.
