Miko’s brow tightens. “You’re talking about the Tanaka estate.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
Raf studies me, as calm as ever. He doesn’t argue. He just waits for me to say it.
“They think those walls protect them,” I press, my pulse hammering. “But they’re nothing but a cage. And without the Irish as reinforcements to stop us, we can storm the gates and burn the family out before sunrise.”
Miko paces. “Even if the Tanakas no longer have the Murrays’ support, that’s more than just a home you’re talking about infiltrating, Sandro. It has reinforced steel gates, heavy guards. It might not be an operational hub—but it’s definitely a fortress.”
“Then we make their home their grave.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve seen it once—from the outside. Gio went in alone, when he climbed the wall to save Stephanie. I’ve been as far as their entryway and Zen garden a single time. We don’t know what we would be facing aside from their front gate and the number of guards they put on watch.”
“Isn’t that all we need to know?” I snap. “We’re breaking in, not mapping out blueprints of their layout.”
Raf finally speaks. “Through the front gates?”
I nod. “We hit hard, fast, and without warning—late enough they’ll all be asleep. Then they won’t have time to organize.The longer we wait, the more prepared they’ll be. They’ll be anticipating retaliation. I say we move before they can predict what we have planned.”
Miko hesitates, then looks at Raf. “He’s right. A stealth operation would take time we don’t have. If we go in loud, we can disorient them before they can react.”
Raf exhales slowly, his good hand pressing to his thigh. “You’re talking about slaughter.”
“I’m talking about survival.” I meet his eyes, unflinching. “He shot you, Raf. He could havekilledyou. He walked right through our front doors—which were supposed to be well defended—and made us bleed in front of our men. You think he won’t do it again?”
I don’t mention the trail of bodies he left in his wake, the guards he killed to make their grand entrance. My brothers don’t need the reminder.
Raf doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. We all know the truth.
Miko rolls his shoulders and moves toward me again, sparring gloves still on. “Alright, baby brother, show me how it’s done.”
I step in without hesitation, and our fists collide. The fight turns fast—ugly, real. Each punch says what we don’t. Every hit is anger, guilt, desperation as I pour out my frustrations through my fists.
Miko drives an elbow toward my shoulder. I block and return a hard right hook to his jaw. He stumbles, recovers, smirks faintly through the blood in his mouth.
“You think killing Kenji makes it right?” he grits out.
“No,” I snarl, slamming a knee into his ribs. “But that’ll stop it from happening again.”
He twists, catches me off balance, and throws me down onto the mat. The impact cracks through my back, air leaving my lungs in a rush. For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling—breathing, sweating, hating the weakness burning in my chest.
Miko stands over me, offering a hand. I take it.
“You’re not wrong,” he says, voice calmer now. “But we do it right. We hit them when they’re asleep, close off every exit. Raf’s men can take the front. I’ll hit the back flank.”
I nod. “I’ll lead the breach.”
Raf shakes his head. “That’s suicide.”
“Then I’ll die doing my job,” I deadpan.
Raf gives me a look of pure exhaustion. “You would make Father proud, talking like that,” he states dryly, his tone infused with sarcasm.
The words cut deep. My throat tightens. “Maybe that’s what it takes.”
He pushes himself to his feet with his good arm. “You’ll take thirty men. No more. Keep it tight, quiet until we hit. Once the gates go down, we’ll make quick work of it.”
Miko nods.
