She studies me for a moment before nodding. "Then don’t."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
Without a word, she gestures for me to follow.
I hesitate for only a second before falling into step behind her.
Valentina leads me down a hallway I’ve never paid much attention to before, stopping in front of a reinforced steel door. She types in a code, and the lock clicks open. The door swings inward, revealing a sparsely lit room lined with monitors and communication equipment. Several men sit inside, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of the screens.
A command center.
"This is how we keep track of what’s happening," Valentina says. "It’s secure. Only Marco’s most trusted people have access."
I swallow, stepping forward. Tension coils in the room, low voices threading through the crackle of radio transmissions.
One of the men looks up, brow furrowing as he sees me. "She shouldn’t be in here."
Valentina raises a hand before I can respond. "Marco’s instructions—she can be anywhere she pleases in this estate. She’s not a prisoner. She’s family."
The man hesitates, then looks at me again. This time, he nods.
I move closer to the screens, my eyes scanning the shifting feeds of security footage, maps, and live reports. I don’t understand everything I’m seeing, but I don’t have to. The only thing I care about is Marco.
"Can we hear what’s happening?" I ask.
Valentina gestures to one of the radios. "They’re using encrypted channels, but we can listen in on the updates."
She picks up a headset and hands it to me. I slide it on, heart hammering as I adjust the frequency. A burst of static fills my ears before voices cut through—low, urgent, threaded with anticipation.
"Once we hit the gates, they’ll either scatter or dig in. Either way, we don’t give them time to regroup."
"Understood. Hold the line. Keep them contained."
"No one gets in or out."
Marco is in the thick of it.
35
MARCO
The sun drags long shadows across the road as we approach the Lombardi villa, the sky bleeding from gold to deep crimson, a fitting omen for the night ahead. Our convoy moves in a tight formation, engines growling low, a slow march toward destruction.
Somewhere across the city, Luca is heading for the docks, his own convoy weaving through the narrow streets of Nuova Speranza, cutting through the veins of a city built on blood and power. His men will take the waterfront, cut off their supply lines, and burn every last trace of their operation until nothing remains but smoke and sinking wreckage.
We move toward the villa, he moves toward the docks. Two fronts, one war.
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles taut, my mind razor-sharp. This war has been brewing for too long. Tonight, I will put an end to it. I’ll dismantle the Lombardi operation piece by piece, bury them so deep they’ll never crawl their way out. For Sofia. For the family. For the life that will soon belong to us.
But as we near the gates, something gnaws at the edges of my instincts, a whisper of unease slithering beneath the rage.
It’s too quiet.
The Lombardis should be scrambling by now. Panicked lookouts should be reporting movement, guards barking orders, men securing the perimeter. But there’s nothing. No sudden movement, no sign of hurried reinforcements. The villa stands before us, dark and silent, its wrought-iron gates slightly ajar like a mouth curled into a knowing grin.
"They’re expecting us," one of my best men, Silva, mutters from the passenger seat, his hand resting near his holster.
"I know."
