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Ice floods my system, freezing the rage into something harder, colder, more lethal.

"Took who?"

But I already know. I knew the moment I saw his number on my screen.

"Mrs. Ravelli. To Vito's private quarters below the mansion. The old room."

The old room.

Fuck.

The interrogation chamber beneath the east wing where my grandfather once extracted confessions from enemies of the family. Where I watched my first execution at twelve years old.

"Who else?"

"Guards at the entrances. Nico's missing. I've removed those I could without raising alarm, but—"

"I want everyone loyal to me at the east entrance. Now."

I end the call, foot pressed to the floor as the estate looms ahead through sheets of rain. My mind fills with the image of Bianca. Her eyes fierce despite her fear, hands protectively cradling our unborn child as my father reveals whatever endgame he's been planning since before I claimed her that night in the hotel.

I'm pregnant, Luca. With your child.

The words fuel something primal and vicious inside me. Protecting what's mine has never felt more urgent, more necessary.

The security gates part as I approach, the guard's face pale as I screech to a halt in the courtyard. Alessio waits at the side entrance, rain plastering his hair to his skull, weapon already drawn.

"Status," I demand, slamming the car door.

"Four men inside. I can't find Matteo."

I check my own weapon, the cold steel of my pistol reassuringly heavy in my palm.

"Stay behind me," I order, moving toward the entrance. "Anyone who isn't Bianca is expendable."

We move through the mansion, dispatching the first guard we encounter with brutal efficiency. My bullet finds his throat before he can raise the alarm, his body crumpling to the expensive carpet that has witnessed generations of Ravelli bloodshed.

What's one more stain?

The east wing entrance stands half-open, another guard sprawled across the threshold, throat slashed. Alessio's work.

The stairs leading down to the old room stretch before us, concrete worn smooth by decades of fear.

I place my hand on the handle, ready to descend the stairs. This stairwell has witnessed countless men dragged down to meet their fate.

Tonight, it will witness one more.

Alessio moves like a shadow behind me, his breathing barely audible. My most loyal soldier.

The moment I open the door, I spot Matteo. He has his back to us, hand raised to ring the iron bell that alerts the interrogation chamber of an intruder.

Twenty-three years of service flash through my mind. Matteo standing beside my father at my mother's funeral. Matteo teaching me how to clean a gun when I was sixteen. Matteo smoothing legal complications after my first kill.

I shift on the spot and he turns, sensing our presence, and our eyes lock.

There's no surprise in his gaze. No fear. Just a cold resignation that tells me everything I need to know.

He's made his choice.