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“Two of Giacomo’s men posted near the perimeter,” he replies, voice low and clipped. “A few more scattered deeper into the forest. I’d say eight to twelve total. He’s expecting resistance—but he has no idea just how fucked he really is.”

He nods to one of his men, who gestures toward the trees. “There’s a clearing about half a mile in. We saw movement during the initial sweep—before the gunfire started. There’s a small hunters’ cabin we should check.”

I already knew that. I spent years at that cabin. But hearing it spoken out loud? It makes my fucking blood boil.

Giacomo is in my house. With my wife. Playing a game he has no chance of winning.

I adjust my grip on my gun, jaw tightening. “We move fast. Quiet. We take out every last one of them.”

Valerio smirks. “No survivors?”

I shake my head. “Not a fucking chance.”

Dario’s eyes gleam. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Then—

A gunshot cracks through the air. Too close. Too fucking close.

Maria.

My body moves before my mind can catch up, launching into a sprint toward the trees, each step echoing my need to save her.

Dario curses under his breath and follows, his men right behind him.

Valerio is at my side, his expression grim, eyes cutting through the dark in search of movement.

The forest is thick, the undergrowth heavy, but I push through it like an animal. Twigs snap beneath my boots.

We fan out, ghosts among the trees, covering ground with deadly precision.

I hear the shouts and screams of various voices, but none of them are hers.

Then, another round of gunfire erupts, and I hear a voice I know all too well.

“She’s over here!”

Daniele.

I’d know his scream anywhere. My stomach twists at the thought of my son being on that man’s side. I grip my gun tighter and push down every hesitation, every shred of doubt.

I catch a glimpse of him, and for a split second, I see the boy I once loved. My son. The memories flood me—how we used to be. But that fleeting image is swallowed by the darkness of the life he’s chosen. If it comes down to it… If I have to pull the triggeron my own son—I will. But I can’t shake the hollow ache in my chest.

Two of Giacomo’s men stand guard near the tree line.

Idiots.

They’re not expecting us. I exhale, steady. One shot. One kill. The first guard falls before he can blink. The second drops like a fly.

I don’t stop.

My feet carry me toward the sound of my son’s voice. I don’t know what I’m about to walk into, but I know this: Whoever stands in my way will meet the same fate as those two.

Hold on, Maria. I’m coming.

39

MARIA