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By the time we pull up to Lapo’s estate, the tires spit gravel in every direction.

I don’t park. I leave the car door hanging open and head straight for the gates.

A guard steps forward, his rifle raised. “You can’t—”

My fist connects with his throat before he finishes.

He gags and crumples.

Another lunges. I drive my elbow into his jaw, duck a swing, and slam his head against the wrought iron fence. Bone cracks. He drops like dead weight.

Alfio’s beside me now, moving clean and fast. He takes out a third before I even turn around, his blade slipping between ribs like he’s buttering bread.

We both pause and we watch the front doors swing open.

More guards pour out—this time armed, their guns already raised. Ten. Maybe more. My chest heaves, but my hands stay loose by my sides. Blood stains the cuffs of my shirt.

Then Lapo strolls out, swathed in a robe like this is his fucking birthday.

“Vieri,” he drawls, arms open, smiling like we’re cousins meeting at a family barbecue. “Friend. Must you cause a scene? Me and my missus were just at it—”

I stalk forward. Alfio doesn't stop me.

Lapo’s guards tense, guns lifting a breath higher, but I stop just short of their reach. My jaw clenches. “Where is she?”

Lapo’s smile widens, but his eyes twitch. “I’ll show you. But first…” He wags a finger. “What I asked for.”

“I don’t own the ports,” I say, “I just run them.”

His brow dips.

“I’ll do something when I see her.”

He weighs me for a long second. Then he shrugs. “Deal.”

He turns on his heel like this is just business.

Alfio and I follow, every step a war cry. I count the seconds. One foot after the other, down polished halls that shine. He stops before a thick wooden door.

Lunetta is kneeling on the floor, knees tucked under her body like she folded into herself. Her wrists are tied behind her back. A blindfold covers her eyes. Her face—God, her face—is streaked with red. Her cheeks blotched. The bruises from the slaps look fresh, her lip cut.

I step in without a word and walk over to her. My shoes echo too loud on the tile. The door clicks shut behind me.

My knees bend as I crouch in front of her. One hand hovers by her shoulder. The other reaches up, slow as fog and I slide the blindfold off her face.

Her lashes flutter. I kneel there, hand still hovering by her cheek, staring into eyes that have no reason to trust me… but do.

My fingers brush the corner of her mouth, where the skin’s swollen. My thumb lifts beneath her chin and tilts her face up, slow enough not to frighten her more.

She blinks up at me, pupils unfocused. Her gaze struggles to settle—and when it does, it lands on me. That innocence. That fear. That goddamn calmness in the wreckage.

Gone is the red haze from the drive here. The roar of Alfio’s voice, the screech of tires. I smooth the back of my fingers along her cheek, brushing over the heat left behind by palm strikes. Someone slapped her, hard enough to split her lips.

Behind me, Lapo chuckles nervously. “She was being a rude little wretch,” he says. “You know how they are. You get it, right? Women—they push, they mouth off. I had to discipline her a little.”

I rise to my feet, slow and steady, the weight of my stare settling on the man in the sling. He shifts where he stands. I step past Lunetta, now behind me.

“This is about him, isn’t it?” I ask.