"Partners until the end," he confirmed. "Go get ready. They will make sure they are on time for this."
Rodrigo moved to the large, antique wardrobe tucked into the corner of the office. He opened the heavy doors, revealing reinforced shelves and drawers full of his customized weapons.
From a concealed compartment at the back, hidden behind false panels and a biometric lock, he retrieved a small box made of dark, polished wood, banded in tarnished silver. He carried it back to his desk, setting it down beside his keyboard.
Giana watched him, her expression unreadable. "What's in the box, Rodrigo?"
"Something I really hope I don't have to use."
Before she could press further, the main door to the office opened. Dario entered first, looking like he had been dragged backward through a hedge. His curls were wild, and his leather jacket was scuffed.
Frederica followed, her braid slightly askew, a thin cut on her lower lip glistening.
"You wanted a debrief," Dario announced, his voice gravelly. He slumped into the other armchair opposite Giana, running a hand over his face. "Luca's secure. Singing like a fucking canary now he's awake, and Dante slapped him about. The two Falcone goons are currently chilling in the van until you tell me what to do with them. Dante's got the AC cranked, and Athena is keen to set a new body dismemberment record."
Frederica leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed. Her gaze was fixed on Rodrigo, cool and assessing.
"The meeting was at a farmhouse outside Treviso. Luca was delivering intel like patrol schedules, and weak points in the perimeter since the restructuring after Izmir. There was two contacts. The one who bled out was muscle, low-level. The one who took the balcony dive was higher up. A lieutenant named Bruno. Luca identified him before he passed out again."
"Bruno reported directly to Vincenzo's inner circle," Dario added, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Luca didn't know the ultimate recipient of the information either, just that it was always for the 'nephew's office.' He was scared shitless, Rodrigo. Kept babbling about 'the old man's wrath' if things went wrong."
Rodrigo absorbed the information, his mind racing. Vincenzo was moving fast, consolidating power, using fear. Good. Fear made people stupid.
"And themessypart?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Dario flushed. "The leg shot was self-inflicted. The idiot panicked when I breached the door, fumbled his gun when I kicked him, and shot himself in the thigh. I just knocked him out after. How was I supposed to know he'd hit the fucking artery?"
"What happened to the other one?" Giana asked, her brows lifting.
"Yeah, Spartana, whatdidhappen to the other one?" Dario pressed, a teasing light in his eyes.
"He was attempting to throwmeoff a balcony. Dario intervened with the help of some…improvised architecture." Frederica's lips twitched, the ghost of dark amusement that mirrored Dario's. "The railing proved structurally unsound, and he went over on his own."
Rodrigo sighed. "Both of you get out of my sight and get some sleep. I need to get dressed to deal with the Sicilians, and I might need you to be ready for an attack in a few hours."
They left without arguing further, and Rodrigo turned to Giana. "I'll let you have the first shower."
"How considerate of you, fiancée," Giana said, her lips lifting at one corner. "You can make me a double espresso while you wait."
Rodrigo's stomach unclenched a little at the sight of the smile and the teasing. She was putting aside their kiss from last night, but there was an easiness between them that hadn't existed before.
"Anything my queen wishes," he replied, with a bow.
Giana snorted and headed back into the wardrobe. "Just don't burn the beans, or I'll change my mind and marry Vincenzo."
"Over my dead body," Rodrigo declared, meaning every word.
Giana's laughter echoed back to him, and despite the dead bodies and the Sicilians he now had to deal with, Rodrigo smiled.
24
Precisely twenty-eight minutes later, Rodrigo was sitting behind his desk with Giana beside him. She was dressed in tailored black pants and a red blouse that matched the tie he had put on with his suit. They hadn't planned to match, but it did present them as unified in more ways than one.
"Get ready." Leo's voice crackled from the desk speaker. "Sicilian families are incoming. Patching them through…now."
The large central monitor on Rodrigo's desk flickered to life, splitting into multiple video feeds. The faces that appeared were a gallery of power and menace, men who ruled their fiefdoms from shadowed offices or sun-drenched villas not unlike his own.
Hard eyes and expensive suits, with generations of violence etched into their features. On the central feed, slightly larger, showed Vincenzo Falcone.
