"Then I work fast," Giana countered. "And I have you two watching my back and ready to take over if I hit something I can't get through."
Kon studied the map, then Giana, his expression unreadable. "A distraction within the distraction. It could work. It turns their strength and numbers against them, creating confusion we can shatter and exploit."
Rodrigo hadn't taken his eyes off Giana. She had this under control, and he couldn't help the pride that moved through him. He reached out, not touching her, but his hand rested palm-up on the table between them, an open question, a silent offer of support. She placed her hand in his without hesitation, and his heart skipped a beat.
"Do it," Rodrigo said, backing her play. She was never going to be just his woman. She was his strategist and his partner, and he wanted her to know it.
"Leo and Iz, coordinate the digital assault with Giana. Dante, Kon, and Athena, you know the physical defense. Dario, Fred, I want every inch of this perimeter prepped for hell. Julian and Altun, your insights are always welcome, so speak up if you have any." His gaze swept the room, landing finally on Silas. "You're our eyes outside the walls until they close in. Take some of the men and set them up in sniping positions to slow them down."
Silas gave a single sharp nod. "On it."
The room erupted into coordinated chaos. Chairs scraped, voices rose in clipped, professional exchanges, weapons were checked, and comms headsets distributed.
Rodrigo glanced around and smiled in anticipation. The plan was set, the clock was ticking, and he couldn't wait to get some well-earned revenge on the bastard who thought that threatening the love of his life was a good idea.
39
Dinner that night was an informal affair, even if it was held in the grand dining hall. Platters of simple, hearty food were consumed with easy conversation, the air thick with anticipation for the fight.
Giana picked at her food, her mind already racing through firewall protocols. Rodrigo's presence beside her was a steady, reassuring warmth, his thigh pressed against hers under the table.
As the remnants of the meal were cleared, Altun rose gracefully from her seat beside Julian. She caught Rodrigo's eye, then Giana's. "Can I have a word with you two?"
Rodrigo nodded, pushing back his chair. Giana followed, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. Altun led them through a side archway into a smaller, book-lined anteroom that smelled of old parchment and beeswax. Julian followed them and closed the heavy door. Altun turned to face them, her expression uncharacteristically serious.
"There is a magical signature on the van you bought here," she began without preamble. "It is hard to explain, but it is like a resonance that is unique to the caster. I checked the men youbrought in, too, and it was as if someone had touched them with magic and then withdrew. I don't know if it was a type of control spell or if it was to wipe their memories of a face or faces they had seen."
"Are you sure?" Rodrigo asked, his brows lowering.
"Why would I lie? I don't know who is backing Vincenzo, but this magic feels…wrong. It's a kind of death magic, and before you ask, I felt it recently enough that I'm not mistaken."
Rodrigo went very still. "Where?"
"Istanbul," Altun replied, hesitating. "The night of the attack on Kon's warehouse. Whoever this 'Old Man' is, he wields magic that I've only encountered once, and that person should be dead."
"You can't seriously be thinking of Serapis. There is no way that he could have survived that fall into the ocean," Rodrigo replied, eyes widening.
"I know, and I'm not certain, but the magic is so similar, it is eerie," Altun replied.
Cold dread seeped into Giana's bones. Magic. Real, dangerous magic. It was one thing to fight men with guns, but it was another entirely to face something… other.
She had never met Serapis, the occultist who had pretended to be a member of Rodrigo's father's family for generations. Gabriella had died when she had dragged him over the side of a sea cliff, but they never found his body. She was suddenly glad that Athena and Frederica had taught her to always shoot for the heart and the head.
"It doesn't matter who it is," Rodrigo argued. "The compound is hallowed ground, Altun. Consecrated. Necromantic magic can't cross its threshold.Gul, like the ones Serapis had in Istanbul, can't touch us here."
Altun nodded slowly, but her eyes remained troubled. "Gul, no. The ancient wards hold against such abominations.But Rodrigo, hallowed ground only disrupts necromancy and demonic activity. There are other magics. Curses woven from hatred and ambition that draw power from pain, not corpses. The old monastery wards you have here are not designed against such things."
She looked from Rodrigo to Giana, her gaze piercing. "If this person is anything like Serapis, they will be smart enough to find a way aroundthem."
The silence that followed was broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace. The stone walls of the villa, which had always felt like an impenetrable fortress, suddenly seemed less certain. It was meant to be their sanctuary, but Altun's words painted a picture of a threat that could slither through the cracks.
Giana knew certain forms of magic were real, but she had never seen them in person before. How could they defend against such power if they didn't know magic themselves?
"We need to find out who is capable of wielding that kind of magic and why the hell they would want to work with a little weasel like Vincenzo," Rodrigo said finally.
"I don't know, but I would bet any treasure in my collection that they were taught by Serapis at some point in their lives. All students carry the mark of their teachers, whether they want to or not," Altun replied, a small crease between her brows. "No matter how good they are, they will have to be exceptional to take on both Kon and me. We can handle them, Rodrigo. I only thought you should know the threat isn't all bullets and blades."
Julian stirred from his post by the door, his voice a low rumble. "So we fight men, machines, and possibly pissed-off nature spirits or some geriatric warlock's pet curse. Our average Tuesday, then."
