My sister struggled to stand, one of Cesare's men moving to help her.
"One more thing," Viktor called as we moved toward the elevator. "Mrs. Monti. You impressed me tonight. Standing up to me when you had no leverage. That takes spine."
"I had leverage," I corrected. "I had him." I gestured to Cesare.
Viktor's smile returned—genuine this time. "Yes. You did. Remember that."
We left Viktor's penthouse with the documents, with Bianca, with our lives intact.
But I knew this wasn't over. It was just a pause. A temporary ceasefire in a war that would probably last our entire lives.
In the elevator, Cesare pulled me close. "That was the most terrifying, impressive thing I've ever watched you do."
"What? Stand there while you threatened nuclear war?"
"No. Walk into an armed standoff and call Viktor Kozlov's bluff without flinching."
I hadn't thought of it that way. I'd just been trying not to die.
Bianca stood in the corner, silent, bloodied, broken.
I didn't know what to feel about her anymore. Anger? Pity? Both?
"What happens to her now?" I asked quietly.
"That's up to her," Cesare said. "She's no longer Viktor's problem. But she's not our problem either. She made her choices."
The elevator descended toward the lobby, toward safety, toward whatever came next.
I'd survived my first real confrontation with the darkness of Cesare's world.
And I'd done it standing.
CHAPTER 12
Cesare
The SUVs pulled into the penthouse garage at 5:47 a.m.. Exhaustion weighed my bones—twenty-four hours without sleep, running on adrenaline and strategy and sheer stubbornness. And now, I’d have to meet with Giovanni. Anticipate how he planned to screw me over.
Bianca stumbled getting out of the second vehicle. Giulio caught her elbow, steadying her against his bulk.
"Guest room three," I ordered. "Post a guard outside. She doesn't leave, doesn't make calls, doesn't speak to anyone without my permission."
"Understood, boss."
Luxury prison. The penthouse had enough space for that—rooms that became cells with the right security.
Paola followed Bianca with her eyes, expression unreadable. She'd saved her sister this morning. I still didn't know if that was strength or stupidity. Maybe both.
Piero appeared at my shoulder as we stepped into the elevator. "Matteo arranged for Dr. Chen. Discreet, on payroll, doesn't ask questions."
"Good. Get him here fast."
The elevator opened into the penthouse. Someone had turned on lamps—soft light against the predawn darkness outside. The city was waking up below, oblivious to the war being waged.
Dr. Chen arrived fourteen minutes later, medical bag in hand, face carefully neutral. He'd treated enough bullet wounds and knife fights for the family to know better than to comment on a beaten woman in my guest room.
"She needs stitches, possibly a broken rib," he said after his initial examination, disappearing back into the room with practiced efficiency.
