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My men exchange glances but don’t argue. They understand the necessity of compartmentalization in our line of work. The importance of keeping certain things in the shadows where they belong.

“Timeline?” Seb asks.

I check my watch—just past four in the afternoon. “Make the call now. Tell Alessandro I want to meet at eight. That gives us three hours to get everything in place.”

“And the other families?” Micah asks. “If we take out Alessandro—”

“Let them fight over the scraps.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Marcus Barone will go down. Those warehouses will damn him for sure. Everyone else can go down with him or accept one thing, one rule—” I lean forward, letting some of the darkness I usually keep contained seep into my voice. “My family is off limits. Eve, Leo, all of you. Anyone who comes after what’s mine answers to me.”

The threat lands exactly as intended. These men have seen what happens to those who cross that line. They were there when I dealt with Gio after all.

“Get it done,” I order, standing to signal the end of the meeting. “I want everything in place before sunset.”

They file out one by one, already pulling out phones to set things in motion. Only Seb lingers, his good arm braced against the doorframe.

“You sure about this?” he asks quietly. “Once we cross this line—”

“The line was crossed the moment they targeted Eve.” I meet my brother’s concerned gaze. “Everything that happens now is on them.”

He studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Just, be careful, yeah? Eve needs you alive more than she needs revenge.”

The words hit harder than he probably intends. Because he’s right—Eve does need me. Not just for protection or safety, but because somehow, against all odds, she’s fallen in love with me. The real me, not just the mask I show the world.

And I love her. God help me, I love her with an intensity that terrifies me sometimes. Love her enough to risk losing her by doing what needs to be done.

“I’ll be careful,” I promise. “Now go. Make the call.”

Once I’m alone, I allow myself a moment to sit back down, to feel what I’m setting in motion. Alessandro Costa will die tonight. Along with however many of his men are foolish enough to follow him into my club. There will be no negotiation, no chance for redemption.

Some might call it cold-blooded. Eve certainly would, if she knew. But I learned long ago that in this world, mercy is just another word for weakness. And I can’t afford to be weak. Not when the stakes are this high.

My phone buzzes with a text from Eve:

Eve

Meeting with Rissa about tomorrow. Miss you.

Three simple words. I type back:

Zeke

Miss you too.

Before I can stop myself, I add:

Zeke

Stay safe.

Because I can’t help it. Can’t stop trying to protect her, even in these small ways.

I’m doing this for you.For both of you. I hope someday you’ll understand.

The next few hours pass in a blur of preparation. My men move through the club like shadows, setting up surveillance equipment and concealed weapons. I personally inspect every inch of the VIP room where the meeting will take place, making sure everything is exactly as I want it.

Two bottles of thirty-year-old Macallan sit prominently on the bar. One already doctored with enough poison to drop an elephant. The other brand new and opened just for this occasion. Alessandro’s weakness for fine whiskey will be his undoing. Poetic justice, in a way.

By seven-thirty, the pieces are in place. I stand at my office window watching the sun set over Columbus. The city looks peaceful from up here, all golden light and long shadows. Hard to believe so much darkness lurks beneath its surface.