I kept waking up screaming from nightmares. He’d done the unthinkable. And yet, I wasn’t ready to walk away. Leaving this house meant closing the door on him for good.
The sudden roar of helicopters sent me dashing to the terrace. Below, chaos had erupted, helicopters landing one after another, their rotors sending gusts of dust and debris flying through the yard. Armed men were shouting, loading crates, running. My skin crawled. Something was wrong. Were we under attack?
I turned and sprinted across the hall to Giorgio’s room across from mine. The door was open. Inside, Giorgio was moving with tense urgency, throwing clothes and weapons into a bag on the bed.
When he spotted me, his voice was brisk and clipped. “Good, you’re here. We’re leaving in less than an hour. Pack what you need, don’t leave anything behind. We might not be coming back.”
“What’s happening? Are we under attack?”
“No. We’re launching one.”
I stepped in front of him, pulse racing. “Then explain it properly. Why wouldn’t we come back?”
He sighed, shoulders sinking a little. “That bastard Giuliano got Brando. He’s planning to execute him before sunrise.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “No…”
Giorgio kept packing, his tone grim. “Don Carlo’s going after him. All in.”
I stared at him, a chill running down my spine. “When is he coming back?”
He stopped, looked me dead in the eye. “I don’t think he is.”
My hand pressed against my chest as my heart pounded painfully. “What? What do you mean?”
“They’re entering Giuliano territory, Emily. Their estate is a fortress, hundreds of armed men, allies surrounding them... the odds are stacked against Don Carlo. It’s a suicide mission.”
“So, you’re saying he’s walking into a death trap?” My voice shook with disbelief.
Giorgio nodded, his eyes filled with a sorrow I’d never seen in him before.
Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away. “When is he leaving?”
“He already is.”
I didn’t wait. I ran. My bare feet slapped the marble as I flew down the hall, breath jagged in my throat. By the time I reached the yard, twilight had settled in, and the air stung with cold.
Wind whipped at my hair as helicopters roared above, their rotors churned up the sky with violent force. Men barked orders, slammed car doors, loaded weapons, an organized storm spiraling around me.
I shoved through the chaos, screaming his name.
“Carlo!” I spun in every direction, pulling at uniforms, yanking open car doors, eyes wild. “Where is he?”
Some stared. Others brushed me off. No one had an answer.
Then a hand caught my arm. Maxim. He wore a bulletproof vest over a white shirt.
“Where is he?” I cried, clinging to his arm like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
“He already took off on the first chopper.”
“No!” It wasn’t a word, it was a shriek. A gut-wrenching, soul-ripping sound I didn’t know I was capable of. The kind of sound women make when they lose a child, or the only man they’ve ever loved.
I turned my head and saw it, one helicopter, shrinking fast in the distance. A tiny black shape against the bruised-purple sky.
And then it was gone.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Long enough for the yard to empty. Long enough for the wind to die. I was alone again, surrounded by silence. My knees gave out, and I collapsed. The sobs came fast and brutal, tearing through me like shrapnel.
