The third target makes Gianni smile, a cold expression that doesn't reach his eyes. "The butcher shop."
"It's their underground arsenal. They think nobody knows about it." I close my hand into a fist. "They're wrong."
"I'll take a full crew. Shaped charges for the vault, thermite for the weapons."
The Mercedes rocks slightly as we turn onto the highway. "I want Emilio brought to me alive. Not his lieutenants, not his drivers. Him."
Gianni's pen stops moving. "What about the girl?"
Rosaria is the wild card, the factor that changes everything. Emilio will use her against me if he can. Or try to kill her if he can't.
"She stays at the estate. Triple the guard detail."
Gianni folds the map with military precision. "Timeline?"
"Midnight. Hit all three simultaneously. Maximum chaos, minimum response time."
He slides the map into his jacket pocket. "And after?"
I watch Rome's skyline appear through the bulletproof glass. "After, we end this."
The drive back to Naples passes in tense silence. I watch the countryside roll by, thinking about chess moves and blood debts. Emilio started this war the moment he threw paint at a pregnant woman. Now he gets to finish it.
The estate appears around a bend in the road, sprawling across the hillside in the afternoon sun. Home. Sanctuary. The place where she waits for me.
I find her in the bedroom, curled beneath silk sheets. Sleep has softened her features, erased the worry lines that have appeared over the past weeks. She looks younger, more vulnerable. The slight curve of her belly is visible beneath the fabric.
I stand in the doorway for a long time, watching her breathe. In sleep, she belongs entirely to herself. No performance, no masks, no careful composure. The rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic, peaceful.
My phone buzzes against my ribs with a text from Gianni that the teams are assembled, awaiting orders.
I type back with steady fingers.
Salvatore 7:18 AM: Execute at midnight.
She stirs slightly, murmuring wordlessly in her sleep. Her hand moves to rest on her stomach, protecting the life growing there even in unconsciousness. The gesture makes my chest constrict with unfamiliar emotion.
This ends tonight. One way or another, this war finishes before our child is born. Emilio thinks he can threaten what'smine and walk away. He's about to learn the price of that miscalculation.
I close the door softly and head downstairs to prepare for battle.
30
ROSARIA
Ineed to sing. The desperation burns in my chest, consuming me. I've been away from the opera house for a week, and already I feel myself disappearing. The woman who commanded stages across Europe is fading, replaced by someone I don't recognize—someone defined entirely by the men who claim to protect her.
"I have to go back," I tell Salvatore over breakfast. He's reading reports, coffee growing cold at his elbow. "One last time."
His green eyes lift from the papers. "Absolutely not."
"I need to remind myself of who I am."
He sets down the documents, studying my face with that intense focus that makes my pulse quicken. "You know who you are."
"Do I?" The words come out sharp and angry. "Because right now, I feel invisible."
A long moment passes. His jaw works silently, weighing risks I can't calculate. Finally, he nods once. "Bruno goes with you with two additional guards. You can sing for one hour, then you come back."
