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“Already on it.”

I check my watch—4:17 AM. We’ve been hunting Fabrizio for nearly twelve hours. Twelve hours that Aria has been in his hands. My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood where I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek.

I can’t wait to get her out of there. We got Chiara, and she’s now sitting in one of the other cars following in the convoy. She was worried sick, kept apologizing, but when I asked if she could help, she was all in.

I was furious, of course. Her questions led Aria to danger. But there’s no point in taking it out on Chiara. From her reaction of horror, I knew she was punished enough by the thought of her sister being in danger.

Something tells me Aria’s sister will offer her more comfort than I ever could. The thought stings, but right now, Aria’s safety and peace are all that matter.

“The satellite heat scan shows at least fifteen bodies inside the main house and dozens of guards on the property,” another voice reports through my earpiece. “Two in the upper east wing, isolated from the others.”

“That’s her.” I know it instinctively. “Fabrizio must be keeping her close.”

The radio chatter fades to background noise as my mind races through contingencies. Fabrizio is many things—a sadist, a narcissist, an opportunist—but never a warrior. He’s a businessman who uses violence as a tool, not a way of life. His men are hired muscle, not loyal soldiers. They’ll break when pushed.

Ten minutes later, we’re parked half a mile from the estate’s perimeter. My men gather around me, faces obscured by tactical masks, weapons checked and ready. They know the stakes.

“We have three entry points,” I say, pulling up the drone footage on my tablet. “The main gate is heavily guarded—four men, automatic weapons. The service entrance on the east side has lighter security. The south wall has a blind spot in the camera coverage here.” I tap the screen. “That’s our way in.”

Nicolo nods, already dividing the team.

“And Nicolo?” I holster my gun, check my spare clip, and slip a knife into my boot. “Fabrizio is mine.”

“Understood, boss.”

We move like shadows through the dense tree line that borders the property.

The south wall looms ahead, twelve feet of solid stone. No security cameras on this section, just as the plans indicated. This is an oversight that will cost Fabrizio everything.

I give the signal, and two of my men deploy grappling hooks. We scale the wall one by one, dropping onto the manicured grounds on the other side without a sound.

The estate sprawls before us and we keep to the shadows, avoiding the sweeping security lights as we advance toward the main house.

“Alpha team in position,” comes the whisper through my earpiece.

“Beta team ready.”

I press my back against the cool stone of the house, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I’m certain it’s audible. “Execute.”

A moment of perfect silence, then chaos erupts at the front gates—flash-bangs and shouting, the staccato report of gunfire. As expected, guards pour from the house toward the disturbance, shouting into radios.

We slip through the servant’s entrance, neutralizing the two guards there with quick, efficient movements that leave themunconscious but alive. I need information more than I need vengeance. For now.

We clear each room methodically, moving upward toward the east wing where I know Aria waits.

Two guards stand outside a mahogany door at the end of the upstairs hallway. They barely have time to register our presence before my men take them down with silenced shots to the legs. The men collapse, clutching their wounds, their weapons skittering across the polished floor.

I press my ear to the door, listening for any sound within. Nothing. The knob turns easily under my hand—unlocked. A trap? Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop me from walking through that door.

“Cover me,” I tell Nicolo, then push the door open, gun drawn.

The sight that greets me stops my heart mid-beat.

Fabrizio D’Angelo sits in a leather armchair in the center of the room, one leg crossed casually over the other, a crystal tumbler of scotch in his hand. He looks like a man without a care in the world, despite the armed intruders in his home.

Beside him sits Aria, pale and tense, a faint bruise blooming on her cheek.

Something primal and violent surges through me at the sight of that bruise. I have to force my finger to stay steady on the trigger rather than simply emptying the clip into Fabrizio’s smug face.