“Today you fight for your son. For the woman you love. For something beyond power and control.” She turns to look at me, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Today I pray that God protects you as you protect your family. But I need you to pray with me.”
“I don’t remember how.”
“Then kneel beside me and I will show you.”
I stand there for a long moment, wrestling with myself. The last time I prayed was at my mother’s funeral, mumbling words I didn’t believe while my father stood stone-faced beside me. After that, I decided that if there was a God, he wasn’t interested in men like me.
But Rosa is watching me with that patient expectation, and I think about Luca. About how scared he must be right now, wondering why his parents haven’t come for him. About how much I’m willing to do, willing to sacrifice, to bring him home safe.
If there’s even a chance that prayer might help, isn’t it worth trying?
So I cross the small room and lower myself onto the cushion beside Rosa. My knees protest against the hard floor and I feel awkward and exposed in a way that I hate. But Rosa reaches over and takes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and begins to pray in Italian.
The words wash over me, familiar from childhood even though I stopped listening to them decades ago.Ave Maria, piena di grazia. Il Signore è con te.
I close my eyes and try to find something inside myself that might pass for faith. What comes instead is desperation. Raw, unfiltered need that rises up from somewhere deep in my chest.
Please. If anyone is listening. Please let me save my son. Let me bring him home safe. I’ll do anything. Give anything. Just let him live.
It’s not the kind of prayer that Rosa would approve of. But it’s honest, maybe the first honest prayer I’ve ever said, and when Iopen my eyes I feel different. Lighter, like I’ve set down a weight I didn’t know I was carrying.
Rosa squeezes my hand and smiles at me, and for a moment I see the young woman she must have been before life hardened her too. Before watching children like me grow into monsters.
“Go,” she says softly. “Save your boy. And come back to us.”
I kiss her forehead and leave the chapel without looking back.
The next two hours fly in final preparations. I meet with my team leaders in the war room, going over every detail of the assault until I’m certain they could execute the plan even with their eyes closed. I check in with our intelligence contacts, confirming Viktor’s position at the cathedral and the number of men he has with him. Eighteen confirmed, possibly more.
Eighteen men between me and my son. I’ve faced worse odds.
At four a.m., the first teams start loading into vehicles. I can hear them from here, weapons being checked, body armor secured, quiet conversations and occasional nervous laughs.
Marco finds me in the armory around four-thirty, already suited up in tactical gear. He looks as tired as I feel, deep shadows under his eyes, but there’s stubbornness in his expression that I recognize. The look of a man ready to do whatever it takes.
“The teams are loaded and ready to move,” he reports. “Everyone knows their positions.”
“Casualties?”
“We’re looking at maybe ten percent if everything goes according to plan. Higher if Viktor has surprises waiting.”
Ten percent of sixty men means six dead. Six men who volunteered for this mission knowing they might not come back. Six families who might lose fathers and brothers and sons because I trusted the wrong person.
“They know the risks?”
“They know.” Marco steps closer, lowering his voice. “Every single one of them volunteered. Not because you ordered them to. Because Viktor’s betrayal hit all of us, and they want to see him pay for it.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“We’re going to get him back, Dante.”
My heart squeezes as I realize it’s the first time he’s addressing me by name. Only Viktor had that luxury as my right-hand man.
“We’re going to get Luca. And we’re going to make Viktor regret the day he decided to cross you.” Marco clasps my shoulder, his grip firm. “I’ve been with you since we were kids running packages for your father. I’ve never seen you lose when it mattered. You’re not going to start now.”
“If something happens to me?—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
