Matteo would never want me to trade Luca or Elena’s safety to honor him. He’d always despised the way our world demanded sacrifice in exchange for power, the way grief was meant to be sharpened into a weapon and wielded until nothing human remained. He had carried the weight of his soon-to-be crown because he had to, not because he wanted it.
He’d lovedusmore than any title.
I can hear his voice in my head now, clear as if he’s standing beside me, telling me not to be an idiot and telling me that revenge is hollow if it leaves nothing worth living for afterward.
Matteo would have laid down his life again without hesitation if it meant I could keep mine intact. If it meant I could have what he always wanted for me—something beyond this endless cycle of violence. A future that didn’t revolve around betrayal and vendettas.
As much as Matteo deserves justice, my son and Elena need me more.
That is the only thing that matters now.
“When we strike them,” I say, leaning forward to slowly close the laptop, “we will need to do it quickly. Before any of them have time to react.”
Speed is everything. Hesitation is death. The longer Toselli’s men have to regroup, the more likely Elena and Luca will become necessary casualties to offload.
Romano is the first to answer, as I knew he would be. “An ambush at night will be the most efficient way if that’s the route you want to go. Gives us more cover to get closer.”
Bianchi doesn’t miss a beat.
“I’ve got a team already heading that way,” he adds. “They’re going to scope out the grounds and report back what they find. I’ll have them map out a rough plan on how to get in.”
“Good.” I push away from the desk and stand.
For the first time since all of this started, I feel something shift. The panic recedes, giving way as the rage sharpens into focus instead of consuming me whole. This is where I’m strongest, in the moment where strategy overtakes emotion and turns it into something useful.
I’m done chasing. The next move is mine and when it happens, it will happen onmytiming, inmyway.
I look around the room at the men I trust with my life, who I trust Luca and Elena’s lives with. “I want this executed by tonight.”
Leo gives me a firm nod. “Consider it done.”
21
DANTE
I don’t look out the window as the convoy heads for Carlo’s estate. I don’t need to see it to know what waits for us. Looking would only invite distraction.
The car rocks as we take another turn too fast. The suspension groans while the tires screech briefly before they’re against the pavement again. I welcome the jolt despite the unpredictability of it. Motion keeps my mind from drifting toward outcomes and contingencies that don’t matter yet.
There will be time for chaos.
Just not now.
I remove the empty magazine and let it settle into my palm. I roll it between my fingers, grounding myself in the weight—or lack of it—before I start loading bullets into the chamber one round at a time. The resistance is familiar, even comforting, every movement exact, rehearsed so many times, it borders on instinct.
This ritual isn’t about the weapon. The gun will function whether I treat it gently or not. This is about shrinking the world down into something manageable. With each round, the noise inside my head recedes. The endless questions of what comes next, the fears that I’ll be walking into a gravesite, all of it fades into something distant and theoretical.
By the time the magazine is full, my thoughts have gone quiet.
I slide it back into place and check the chamber.
No one inside the car speaks.
They know better.
We reach the Palermo syndicate’s estate just after midnight.
The compound squats against the hills like a concrete animal, severe angles and fortified lines that jut out into the dark night sky. Floodlights rake the perimeter in uneven arcs, their movements just slightly out of sync, one sweeping a half-second too late while another stutters before correcting itself.
