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“Aria, stop. Please. You still have time to walk away from this.”

Her voice cracks—softer now, but no less fierce.

“We have what we came for—truth, answers, the loyalty of families who believe in you. Don’t throw that away. Don’t throw yourself away.”

I try to pull free, but she won’t let go.

“Think about the baby. The kind of life you want to build. You can’t lay the foundation of a family on fire and bones. This war might end Salvatore—but what if it ends you, too?”

She’s trembling now. Pleading.

“This doesn’t have to be your legacy. Honor our parents, Aria. But don’t lose yourself trying to avenge them.”

“I won’t bring a child into a world where that man still draws breath,” I whisper. “My baby deserves safety. Not silence.”

“And what if you lose yourself in this war? What if you become just like him?”

For a moment—just a heartbeat—I falter. Because somewhere deep in my chest, Marco’s voice still echoes from the club. The way he looked at me like I was his entire world.

But then I remember who I am.

“I won’t,” I say, as much to myself as to her. “I can’t.”

I key the radio. “All teams, execute. Execute. Execute.”

The world explodes.

The first breaching charge detonates against the eastern wall, sending chunks of concrete flying like shrapnel. The sound rolls across the compound like thunder, followed immediately by two more explosions as the other teams breach their entry points.

Floodlights swing wildly, trying to track targets that move like shadows. Alarm bells shriek through the night air. Shouts in Italian echo from the guard towers.

“Go! Go! Go!” I scream into my radio, and suddenly we’re moving.

My bodyguards flank me as we sprint toward the breach in the eastern wall. Smoke pours from the gap, providing perfect cover. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline singing through my veins like electricity.

This is it. This is war.

We pour through the breach into chaos. Gunfire erupts from three directions at once—muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like deadly stars.

My men spread out in perfect formation, just like we drilled.

But something feels wrong.

I can’t put my finger on it at first. The resistance is there—Marco’s soldiers firing from behind cover, shouting orders, falling back toward the main house. But it feels staged—like I’m just playing a part in someone else’s script.

“Alpha team, report,” I bark into my radio as we advance across the courtyard.

“Minimal resistance. They’re falling back faster than expected.”

“Bravo team?”

“Same here. It’s like they’re not even trying to hold the perimeter.”

That’s when it hits me. They’re not retreating.

They’re funneling.

Herding us exactly where they want us—deep into the belly of the beast. Every inch we gain is one Marco handed us with a leash in the other hand.