My father was dead.
The words didn't feel real.
"Valentina?" Alessio's hand found mine. "Did you hear—"
"He's dead," I said numbly.
I should feel something. Relief, grief, anything. Instead—emptiness.
Rodriguez appeared at the vehicle. "Ms. DeLuca, it's confirmed. Marco DeLuca was killed during the raid. He fired on agents, and they returned fire. Death was instantaneous."
"Was it quick?"
"Very quick. He wouldn't have felt anything."
Quick. Clean. More than he'd planned for me.
"Can I see him?"
Rodriguez hesitated. "The scene is… not something you need to carry."
"I need to see him," I said firmly. "Please."
She exchanged a look with Alessio. He nodded.
"Five minutes. Supervised. Don't touch anything."
The motel room was what I'd expected.
Bullet holes. Overturned furniture. Blood on the carpet. The medical examiner's team working diligently.
And Marco.
Covered by a sheet, but I could see the shape of him. Smaller somehow in death.
"Are you sure?" Rodriguez asked quietly.
I nodded.
She pulled back the sheet.
I'd braced for gore, violence, nightmare fuel. But Marco just looked… empty. Silver hair matted with blood. Eyes closed. The mask finally gone, leaving only a dead man who'd made terrible choices.
This was the man who'd controlled my entire life. Who'd sold me to a senator like property. Who'd sent assassins after me, tried to murder me and my children, killed guards and agents without remorse.
And now he was just… nothing. Flesh and bone and silence.
I waited for satisfaction. For closure. For the weight to lift.
It didn't come. Not the way I'd expected.
"I'm done," I said quietly.
Rodriguez covered him.
Outside, Alessio waited.
"You okay?"
