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That’s not happening.

I straighten, inhale, pull out a gun from my side holster, and shoot them. All five. Clean. Fast. Final.

Their bodies jerk and go still.

Marco jolts as if someone slapped him. “Jesus…”

“Dead men don’t leak.”

Marco stares at the bodies, then at me. No time to explain. I grab the duffel and toss it into the fireplace. A second later, flames roar to life around it, lit by a match from my pocket. I ignore the heat blasting my face as the fire devours cash and fabric.

Smoke snakes upward.

Marco drifts closer, watching the money burn. His jaw works. “Why?”

“Marked. Traceable.”

“But it’s millions.” His voice cracks in disbelief.

“Not worth the cost.” I angle away from the blaze to meet his gaze.

I don’t say that I didn’t consider that money to be worth her life.

Marco’s expression shifts between confusion and concern, but he doesn’t argue as he follows me out of the building. The flames crackle behind us, consuming evidence and leverage.

Everything except for what matters.

Enzo

The drive back is quiet. Marco steers my Maserati through the city, the engine purring like a prowling predator.

He steals several glances at me along the way.

“You always that cold?” Old frustration edges his voice.

I stare straight at the road, ignoring the question.

“Seriously. I’ve seen killers. But you? You don’t even blink.” He shakes his head. “You know, you used to laugh. Now, it’s like you’ve locked your soul in a vault and thrown away the key.”

I still don’t answer. Instead, my hands dig out my knife from my pocket.

Click. Unclick. Click.

I open and shut the Swiss knife, hoping the ritual will drown out Marco’s questions, but this time, he’s clearly ready to go the distance.

“I’m not like the others,” Marco claims, “but I’m not sure I want to be like you either.”

“Then don’t.” I finally tilt my head and let him see without doubt that I’m in no mood for a discussion.

He’s smart enough to take the hint, and we say nothing more until the Benedetti villa rises like a kingdom on a hill.

As the car rolls forward, the guards nod and the gates slide open.

I dismiss Marco with a wave. The boy’s got a girl waiting. Someone who still thinks she can save him.

I let him go while there’s still time and stride through the marble halls, my boots echoing.

Chandeliers drip crystal, oil paintings loom, and power saturates the air. In the great hall, Gabi lounges like a king who inherited a throne he didn’t earn. As always, his pets, Rocco and Vito, flank him.