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I scrub a hand through my hair, messing up the gelled strands. I know better than entangling someone in my world.This is how people get killed. And now that Olivia is here, how am I supposed to keep her safe without shredding her happiness?

Stopping at the window, I stare out at the darkness. My reflection stares back, a ghost of the man I was before her. Before I told her about my mother. Before I let her see parts of me that no one else has.

My phone buzzes with another update from John about Serpent movements in our territory. They're circling, waiting for a weakness. And Olivia? She's become my most dangerous vulnerability.

I slam my fist against the wall, welcoming the pain that shoots up my arm. I need to focus.Lafamigliahas to come first. It's always been that way.

But when I close my eyes, all I see is her face, hear her voice, feel her touch tracing the scar on my chest. The memory of her whispering, "It wasn't your fault," echoes in my mind, a balm I never knew I needed.

I glance at the framed photos on the wall, reminders of a family legacy I feel slipping away. The image of my mother stares back at me, igniting a rush of guilt and fear. Her smile, frozen in time, seems to judge me now. Did I make the right choice, bringing Olivia into this life? Into my world of blood and bullets?

"I'm trying, Ma," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

My mother's eyes in the photograph hold the same warmth they did that night—the night she stepped in front of me, the night she died because I wasn't strong enough. Because I was just a kid who couldn't protect her.

Next to her photo hangs one of my father and grandfather, Senior and Junior, standing tall and proud outside this very house. Nonno's expression is stern but determined. He built this empire brick by bloody brick, and now it's crumbling in my hands.

You're a failure.

That dark voice echoes in my mind, reminding me that I'm incapable of rescuing anyone.

Mother.Dead.

Father.Dead.

Olivia.Soon-to-be dead if I don't stop this madness.

I trace my finger along the edge of my mother's frame. "What would you think of her?" I ask the silent photograph.

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. But I know. My mother would have loved her strength, her fire. The way she cares for her grandfather, despite everything. The way she looks at me like I'm more than just the monster the world sees.

My chest tightens as I move to the next photo, one of me and John as teenagers, before prison, before everything went to hell. Back when I still believed I would be a great boss. That I would claim my birthright and run this family as good as, if not better than, the men before me.

I step back, taking in the entire wall of memories. Generations of Costellos stare back at me, their eyes seeming to ask what I'm willing to sacrifice to keep what's ours. To protect what matters.

And now Olivia matters. More than I ever thought possible.

I snap out of my thoughts when a knock at the door breaks my concentration. John enters, his expression serious, his shoulders tense beneath his tailored suit jacket.

"You planning to wear a hole in that floor?" he asks, eyeing my restless pacing.

"What is it?" I don't have patience for small talk.

I stop pacing and turn to face John, who stands in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Kelly called," he says, stepping into the office. "She and Gino are still safe in the apartment. No sign of trouble there."

My shoulders relax slightly at the news. At least Olivia's grandfather is out of harm's way for now.

"That's something," I mutter, leaning against my desk.

"But there's more." John continues, tension clear in his shoulders. "The Serpents are pulling out from the bar. Naz just reported they've been leaving in groups for the last hour."

I straighten immediately, my senses on high alert. "All of them?"

"Nearly. Just a couple left, and they look like they're packing up too."

This doesn't make sense. The Serpents don't retreat without reason. They've been applying pressure, making their presence known, intimidating my people. A sudden withdrawal means only one thing.