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“These are the approach routes,” he says, pointing to red lines drawn across the layout. “Three teams, three entry points.”

I trace the lines with my finger. “When do we start?”

“At the stroke of midnight, forty-eight hours from now,” Ettore reconfirms.

That fucking soon?

Well, I was the one who wanted fast. And here we are.

Ettore’s voice drops. “Salvatore Bianchi is priority one. Marco Bianchi is priority two.”

My hand moves instinctively to my stomach. Half Bianchi. Half DeLuca. The product of love.

“Aria?” Ettore’s voice pulls me back. “You all right?”

“Fine.” I straighten my spine. “Before we continue, I need you to remember: Marco can’t be killed.”

Ettore furrows his brows, but doesn’t fight me. I can sense what he’s thinking. Something he shared with me in the past—if I’m acting too rash. But he won’t ask that again.

“Fine,” he says, not pressing any further. “Escape routes are mapped already. If things go sideways, we have options.”

I nod, noting the careful placement of getaway cars and backup routes through the city’s industrial district.

Ettore thinks of everything.

It’s what makes him valuable.

It’s also what makes this real.

“The Russians came through?” I ask.

“They came through.” His hazel eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Petrov’s people were very accommodating once we met their price. Surprising…considering how loyal they are to the Bianchis.”

There it is. That nagging suspicion. Marco told them to be accommodating.

The thought ambushes me because I know Marco well enough to recognize his hand in this.

The Russians don’t sell to DeLucas.

They never have.

But suddenly, when I need heavy weapons, they’re willing to deal?

He’s helping me destroy him.

But why?

Maybe it’s an elaborate trap.

Maybe it’s not.

On the latter thought, my chest tightens with something dangerously close to affection.

Stupid. Sentimental. Exactly what I can’t afford.

“Ma’am?” One of the weapons specialists approaches, holding a tablet. “Final equipment count for your approval.”

I scan the numbers. Fifty assault rifles. Two hundred grenades. Enough ammunition to level a city block.