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"Luc—"

"Fuck you."

The bullet leaves my gun before he can finish my name. A perfect shot through his forehead, the same precision he once praised me for. Blood sprays against the wall behind him, a crimson constellation marking the end of a legacy built on lies.

His body crumples, tumbling down the stairs like a discarded puppet, limbs twisting at unnatural angles until he comes to rest at the bottom, face up, eyes still open but seeing nothing.

I step over him without pausing, the blood pooling around his skull soaking into the toe of my leather shoe. I don't look down again.

The dead traitor deserves no more of my attention.

My focus narrows to the iron door beyond the stairs, to what waits on the other side. To who waits.

I can hear voices through the ancient door—Vito's rasp, weakened by disease yet still commanding.

And then I hear Bianca's.

"—a Ravelli now. And we don't break easily."

Pride surges through me. My little hotel maid has become exactly what I knew she could be… a queen worthy of the throne I'll claim tonight.

With one nod to Alessio, I kick the door open.

The scene before me burns into my memory like acid on metal.

Vito sits like a dying king on his wooden throne, oxygen tank at his side, a pistol aimed directly at Bianca's chest. My wife stands before him, chin lifted despite the bruise blooming on her cheek, hair wild around her shoulders, wearing nothing but my shirt from earlier.

"Let her go." My voice cuts through the damp air like a blade.

Vito doesn't flinch, doesn't lower the gun. Doesn't even look at me.

"As always… your timing is impeccable, son." His focus remains fixed on Bianca, finger steady on the trigger. "We were just discussing family loyalty."

I move forward carefully. Each step measured against the tension in Vito's hand, the distance between the barrel and Bianca's beating heart.

"This ends now, Vito." I reach into my pocket, extracting the phone that still contains his death sentence. "I have proof. Your voice ordering Elena's execution."

Something flickers across his face—not guilt, not fear, but something like... satisfaction.

"Ah… so you have. Tell me, Luciano, did you listen to all of it?" he asks, voice almost gentle. "Or only the parts that confirmed what you already believed?"

My finger hovers over the play button. "I heard enough."

"Play it. All of it." Vito flicks his gaze to me for the first time. "Let your wife hear exactly why Elena had to die."

Bianca's eyes find mine across the room. I press play, holding the phone where both can hear.

My father's voice fills the chamber, cold and authoritative as he orders my mother's death. But as the recording continues, words I haven't heard follow:

"Elena plans to take the boys to the Volkovs. She's been feeding them information for months. Their protection in exchange for ours. Make sure Luca sees it happen. Make sure he believes it came from outside. When he's old enough to understand, he'll know what betrayal costs."

The phone slips slightly in my grip. "You're lying. Mother would never—"

"Your mother was leaving me for Dmitri Volkov." Vito's voice hardens. "She was taking my heirs—you and your brothers—straight to our enemies."

The pistol remains steady in his hand, still aimed at Bianca's heart, still capable of destroying everything I've built with a single bullet.

"So you had her killed. In front of me." The rage bubbles up, threatening to consume everything in its path. "You made me watch her die."