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“Maybe. But I’m also right, and you know it. That child you’re carrying? Mine. That war you’re planning? A tantrum because you can’t accept what you feel for me.”

I throw bills on the table. “And when this is over, when you’ve exhausted yourself trying to hurt me, I’ll be waiting to remind you.”

I lean down, my lips brushing her ear as I deliver my final words. “Choose wisely, Aria. Because the next time I come for you, you won’t be leaving my bed again.”

I straighten, drinking in the sight of her—flushed cheeks, rapid breathing, eyes dark with desire she refuses to acknowledge.

Then I walk away, leaving her in that booth with her pulse racing and her body betraying every word of denial that’s ever left her lips.

Because I know something she hasn’t figured out yet.

This war isn’t about justice or vengeance or the sins of our fathers.

It’s about two people too stubborn to admit they’d rather die than live without each other—too proud to beg, too broken to yield, too in love to stop.

And soon, one way or another, we’re going to settle this once and for all.

37

ARIA

Icrouch behind the concrete barrier, the pistol cold against my palms, and watch the Bianchi compound through night-vision goggles.

Forty-eight hours of preparation have led to this moment. There are fifty men positioned around the perimeter with military-grade explosives ready to breach the walls.

My child’s future depends on the next hour.

The compound spreads before us like a fortress with its high walls, guard towers, razor wire gleaming under floodlights.

Marco’s home.

And the beating heart of the Bianchi war machine.

Weapons, logistics, command—it all runs through here. When I lived there, I saw the patterns: the armed shipments, the constant rotation of high-ranking enforcers, the vault entrances guarded day and night.

Salvatore keeps his empire’s muscle here because he thinks no one would dare strike it.

He was wrong.

This won’t kill him. But it’ll break his spine—and make him bleed before I finish the job.

The place I once called my own.

Now I’m here to tear it all down.

My radio crackles. “Alpha team in position.”

“Bravo team ready.”

“Charlie team locked and loaded.”

Three teams. Three entry points. Just like we planned.

I key my mic. “This is for my parents. This is for our future. No mercy.”

Fifty voices respond in unison: “No mercy.”

But before I can give the final order, Chiara grabs my arm, her eyes burning with urgency.