She studies me for a long second. Then presses her forehead to my chest.
“Thank you,” she says, voice quiet now. “For not treating me like something broken. For letting me stay angry.”
I brush my thumb along her jaw. “You’re not broken, Angel. Your anger is justified and we will have vengeance. I promise you.”
Her lips twitch with something like relief. And when I pull her back into my arms, she lets me hold her. Lets herself soften against me. It feels as if she’s beginning to trust me to carry the weight with her.
And for a man like me? That’s everything.
She lets out a long sigh. “I’m going to take a shower. I need to decompress.”
I nod and place a kiss on her forehead before she turns away.
As her footsteps fade down toward the bathroom, I pull my phone from my pocket. I stare at the screen for a beat, her voice still echoing in my head—tight with rage, shaking with fire. That fury might scare anyone else, but to me, it’s a fucking prayer. A vow. I won’t let her down.
I dial Lars first. He answers on the second ring. “I figured you’d be too busy with your wife to call me.”
“She’s too pissed for that right now,” I mutter. “Start pulling the leadership in. Every capo, every territory head, every Syndicate affiliate—I want them seated at the estate by noon.”
“On it.” A beat of silence, then, “Philadelphia too?”
“Definitely. Put them on the line. Falco’s already running—let him feel the walls closing in. I want their eyes on him, steady reports coming in.”
“And the meeting itself?”
“Kavanagh stays front and center,” I say, voice sharp. “Everything else can wait.”
“Understood.”
I hang up and walk to my office just down the hall from our bedroom. Opening my laptop, I pull up the encrypted Marchetti network, firing off a message to my logistics chief. I want full intel briefings from every sector by midday—movement reports, Kavanagh ally surveillance, and a status update on the Calumet Harbor docks. No surprises. Not today.
The estate’s already secure, locked down tighter than a vault, but my instincts won’t let me rest. I need to know what’s coming before it gets within a hundred miles of Zara. If it so much as breathes in her direction, I want to feel it in the fucking wind.
The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s my mother. She’s quiet for once, leaning against the doorframe with concern in her eyes.
“You’re about to burn down half of Chicago, aren’t you?” she says softly.
I glance up. “Not just Chicago.”
She gives me a wicked grin. “Good. That man had this coming.”
I nod once. “He used my wife, he almost sold her off for his own gain.”
Her smile softens. “And now you’re ready to stand by her side as you both destroy him. I love the man you’ve become, Enzo”
She walks off without another word, and I turn back to my desk. The war room is ready. The intel is coming in. My enemies are lining up like dominos—I just need to tip the first one.
And if they think I won’t raze everything they’ve built to the fucking ground?
They’ve forgotten who I am.
I take a sip of coffee,perched on the edge of the velvet bench in Enzo’s closet, one leg crossed over the other, a single stiletto dangling lazily from my toes. Across the room, he fastens the last two buttons of his shirt, sleeves already rolled to expose his forearms. The slacks cling to him like they were stitched straight onto his frame, and his tie hangs loose around his neck, waiting for him to care enough to finish the look.
I rise and walk toward the mirror, my gaze catching on the sharp lines of the black pencil skirt hugging my hips, the matching jacket tailored to my shape. It’s nearly identical to the suit I picked for myself back at the penthouse—structured, feminine, and commanding. A uniform for the kind of woman who could smile sweetly while cutting a man’s throat, then walk away without a wrinkle. Violette knew exactly what she was doing when she had this delivered. Of course she did. She’s lived every version of this life and survived it. And now, she’s going to teach me how.
Enzo crosses the room without a sound, sliding in behind me. His hands settle lightly on my hips before slipping around my waist, tugging me back until my spine rests against his chest.
“Are you ready to walk into that room and make every man in it rethink what power looks like?” he murmurs into my hair, voice warm with something that feels dangerously close to pride.
