They had survived the first blow. They would survive what followed.
43
Twenty-seven hours of keystrokes, cold espresso, and the kind of focused fury that could burn through firewalls like tissue paper was what it had taken to dismantle Vincenzo Falcone's entire empire.
Giana rolled her shoulders as the SUV wound through the Veneto countryside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across vineyards stripped bare for winter.
Beside her, Rodrigo had his eyes fixed on the landscape around them, his hand resting on her thigh. It was warm and grounding in a way that still made her heart skip. She couldn't wait until this shit with Vincenzo was over so she could kiss him as much as she wanted without being interrupted.
In the seats behind them, Dario was playing a game on his phone. Athena had her feet propped up on the back of Giana's seat, humming 'Black Thunder' by The Hu. Kon sat beside her, eyes closed, conserving energy for whatever came next. Silas drove, silent and watchful.
Thegulhad collapsed an hour after the assault ended, thirty rotting corpses dropping where they stood like marionettes with severed strings. The cleanup had been a nightmare of logisticsuntil Dario brought out a backhoe from the large sheds and dug a pit.
They had pushed the bodies into it, set the whole thing on fire, and covered them in salt just to be sure they didn't reanimate. Giana wasn't sorry that she had been too busy to participate in that part.
Leo and Iz had offered to help her track Vincenzo's escape, but Giana had declined. This was something she needed to do herself. Every frozen account, every turned ally, every piece of damning evidence distributed to his enemies… She wanted her fingerprints on all of it. She wanted everyone to know that she was the one who had taken him down.
Vincenzo had put her in a cage and intended to do it to her again. He had ordered her teeth cracked, her nails torn, her body broken. He had tried to shame her in front of all the dons in Sicily.
Now, Giana was going to watch him realize that the woman he dismissed as a pawn would become the architect of his complete annihilation.
"You're smiling," Rodrigo observed, his thumb tracing circles on her thigh.
"Am I?" she said, batting her eyelashes at him playfully.
"It's a terrifying smile," he replied, his eyes crinkling before his mouth twitched. "I like it."
Giana leaned her head against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about how much I've learned in the past few weeks."
"About how to break cybersecurity?" Rodrigo rubbed his lips over the top of her ear and whispered hotly, "Or something else?"
"About revenge." Giana elbowed him in the ribs. "Behave yourself."
Dario snorted from the back seat. "I like her, Rodrigo. She's gotten so mean."
"She's perfect," Rodrigo corrected, and the simple certainty in his voice made Giana's heart flutter.
The villa appeared around a bend in the road, a grand Palladian structure that had clearly seen better centuries. Its white stone façade was stained with age and neglect, the gardens overgrown, and the fountains dry. Once, it had probably hosted parties for Venetian nobility. Now, it was a rat's final hiding hole.
"How is the perimeter looking?" Rodrigo asked.
"Clear," Silas replied. "Whatever men he had left abandoned him hours ago. Iz has a satellite on him and confirmed he's alone."
Giana had made sure of that. She had sent each of Vincenzo's remaining soldiers proof of his failures, his debts, his broken promises. She had shown them exactly how worthless their loyalty had become. By the time she was done, they had all fled like roaches from a burning building.
The SUV stopped at the end of the gravel drive. They exited in silence, weapons drawn.
Giana had her own gun now, a Sig Sauer P365 that Frederica had helped her choose. It was small enough to conceal but deadly enough to matter. She hoped she wouldn't need it. This wasn't about violence, not entirely. This was aboutruin. She wanted Vincenzo to feel as powerless as she had in that fucking cage.
The villa's front door hung open, creaking in the evening breeze. Inside, the grand foyer smelled of dust and spilled alcohol. Expensive furniture sat beneath white sheets like ghosts of former grandeur.
They found Vincenzo Falcone in what had once been a study.
He sat slumped in a leather chair, a bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand. His suit was rumpled and stained. His hair, usually slicked back, hung lank and greasy around his face.
He looked up as they entered, and Giana barely recognized him. This wasn't the smug predator who had ordered her kidnapped, and who had smiled on the conference call. This was something broken.
"Ah," Vincenzo said, his words slurring. "The happy couple. Come to finish me off?"
