"The Bellantis," he says, his jaw locking. "They aren't waiting for us to come to them."
"They're hitting the compound?" I ask, my heart hammering against my ribs. "In broad daylight?"
"Lorenzo is desperate. He knows Vane is dead. He knows the legal freeze is coming for him next. He has nothing left to lose."
A massive explosion rocks the building, the force of it nearly knocking us off our feet. A plume of black smoke rises from the south side of the grounds. The sound of heavy machine-gun fire erupts, echoing off the stone walls of the compound.
"Get to the safe room," Alessio commands, his eyes dark with a territorial rage I haven’t seen before. "Now, Amara! Go!"
He doesn't wait for me to answer. He’s already moving toward the door, his weapon drawn.
The victory was short-lived. The ten-year hunt might be over, but the war for our lives has just reached its most violent crescendo.
I run. Not away, but deeper into the heart of the home I just realized I wanted to keep.
As I race down the stairs, the sound of the battle intensifying, I realize that Alessio was right. I don't have to run anymore. But I do have to fight.
I hit the landing of the second floor just as the windows at the end of the hall shatter inward. Glass sprays across the hardwood like diamonds. I don't stop. I don't look back.
I make it to the Vault just as Dominic and the others are coming in, their faces grim, their clothes stained with the remnants of the morning's strike.
"They're at the walls," Dominic says, his voice like grinding stones. "Santi, take the East wing. Fabio, get the women and children to the safe room. Alessio?—"
"I'm on the gates," Alessio says, his gaze finding mine for one brief, searing second across the room. It’s a look that says stay alive. It’s a look that says I’m coming back for you.
Then the world explodes again.
The power flickers and dies, the emergency red lights kicking on and bathing the room in a bloody glow. The siren for the compound begins to wail—a long, mournful sound that cuts through the chaos.
I move to the monitors. My fingers find the keys. My grief is still there, a cold weight in my stomach, but the runner in me is gone. I’m with the Costas now, by choice, even if the name is not mine yet.
"I've got the perimeter cameras," I shout over the noise. "They’ve got three SUVs through the gate. They're deploying from the garden side."
"Give me the feed," Natalia says, moving to my side. Her face is set in a mask of grim determination.
We aren't just accountants and lawyers anymore. We’re the walls of this house.
Outside, the air is thick with the smell of ozone and death. The Bellantis are throwing everything they have at us, a final, dying gasp of a dynasty that has ruled through fear for twenty years.
I see Alessio on the courtyard feed, one of the last cameras still live. He’s a blur of motion between the stone pillars. He’s efficient. He’s lethal. He’s a man who has finally found something more important than his secrets, and God help anyone who tries to take it from him.
I watch a Bellanti soldier round the corner of the fountain, his rifle raised.
"Alessio, twelve o'clock!" I scream into the comms and pray the channel is still live.
He drops, rolls, and fires in one fluid motion. The soldier falls.
My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. This isn't the clean, digital warfare I’m used to. This is raw. This is visceral. This is the cost of staying.
The attack lasts for what feels like hours, but the clock on the wall says it’s only been twenty minutes. The Costas are a machine, a family built on the bones of their enemies, and even though they were caught off guard, they are winning. They are reclaiming their ground inch by bloody inch.
But then, I see him.
In the chaos of the courtyard, near the edge of the screen, a figure moves with a different kind of purpose. It’s not a soldier. It’s someone who knows the blind spots of the cameras. Someone who knows the service corridor between the holding room and the courtyard.
Turi.
The holding-room feed is black. Rico is down outside the door. Turi is out.
