Page 90

“Boss,” he says, his voice raw from smoke. “We’ve contained the situation, but?—”

“Are there more victims?” I ask again, my eyes scanning the ambulances where medics work frantically on prone bodies.

“Six confirmed dead,” he says grimly. “Four more critical. They hit us during shift change—maximum casualties.”

My hands clench into fists. “The shipment?”

“Gone. Every crate. They knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it.”

“Security footage?”

“Disabled. Complete professional job. They knocked out our system thirty seconds before they breached. Whoever did this had inside information.”

“Could there be a traitor in my organization, or are our attacks genuinely this effective?”

Both thoughts burn hotter than the flames consuming my warehouse. I’ll find them. I’ll make them suffer.

“The men who died,” I say, “I want their families taken care of. Double the usual arrangement.”

Nicolo nods. “Already being handled.”

I survey the destruction again, my mind calculating losses, planning retaliation. This wasn’t just a theft—it was a carefully planned hit on our empire.

This was a message. A declaration.

“Boss,” Nicolo says, his voice dropping lower. “There’s something else.”

I turn to him, noting the hesitation in his eyes.

“They left something for you. Just outside the main entrance. A fireproof box.”

My pulse quickens. “Show me.”

He leads me around the burning building to where a small metal container sits on the ground, untouched by the flames. One of my security team stands guard over it, stepping aside as I approach.

“We checked it for explosives,” Nicolo assures me. “It’s clean. Just… a letter.”

I kneel down, flipping the latches on the box. Inside lies a single black envelope, the paper so dark it seems to absorb the firelight around it. I lift it, feeling its weight—expensive paper, heavy stock.

My fingers trace over the seal pressing into the thick wax—a crest I haven’t seen in twenty-five years but recognize instantly.

The DeLuca family crest.

Something cold and heavy settles in my stomach as I break the seal. Inside, a single card bears five words in elegant handwriting I would know anywhere:

This is only the beginning.

Aria’s handwriting. Aria’s threat. Aria’s declaration of war.

My pulse spikes. My vision bleeds at the edges. I’d known she was gathering allies, planning something—but with a rage so pure it feels like my blood might boil beneath my skin. She didn’t just run from me. She didn’t just hide. She struck first. She drew blood first.

My men. My weapons. My territory.

“Boss?” Nicolo’s voice seems to come from a great distance. “What is it?”

I hand him the card, watching his eyes widen as he makes the connection.

“Your wife?” he whispers, disbelief coloring his voice. “But how? She doesn’t have the resources, the manpower?—”