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Of course not. He is expecting me. Normally, they would have jumped me at first sight. This is enemy territory, after all, and their motto is shoot to kill.

I walk to the door, and the bouncers don’t even bat an eye. They open the door for me and let me in. They’re not stupid—they know who I am.

The gentleman’s club is exactly what I expected—loud, dimly lit, and a knock-off version of The Vortex. Pitiful. The man has the originality of a brain-dead vegetable. The scent of sex and whiskey clings to the air, masking the stench of blood and sweat beneath it.

As soon as I step inside, every set of eyes in the room snaps to me, a ripple of tension spreading through the space. Some recognize me instantly. Others glance toward the VIP section at the back, where Giacomo sits pretty, surrounded by half-naked women moving their bodies sensually to the music.

Giacomo raises his whiskey glass in the air and beckons me over. That little shit. The metal of the gun digs into my skin. I have an itch to reach for it, but not yet.

I walk straight toward the man I came for.

Giacomo sits at the head of a long, private booth, a cigar burning between his fingers.

“Matteo,” he drawls, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Right on time.”

I don’t speak. I don’t even fully think. I simply swing.

My fist crashes into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling across the booth. His cigar tumbles to the floor, landing in a pile of spilled whiskey.

The room erupts into chaos.

Half a dozen men reach for their weapons, but before they can aim, Giacomo lifts a hand, blood dripping from his lip.

“Put them down,” he orders, his voice eerily calm. “Nothing but a greeting between old pals. Isn’t that right?”

They hesitate but obey.

He wipes the blood from his mouth and grins up at me, eyes gleaming with something dark, something twisted. “There he is. I was wondering when you’d finally show me your real face. Ladies, please make yourself scarce. I have a conversation to have with my friend over here.”

The half-naked women leave the booth, and Giacomo and I are the only two left. The room is still filled with a heavy tension that doesn’t seem to let up even as the seconds tick by.

My hands flex at my sides, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“You made a mistake coming here,” he continues, shifting back into his seat as if he isn’t still tasting blood. “Now, let’s talk about how you are going to pay for what you’ve done.”

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “No?” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “You stole from me. My wife. My son.”

My jaw tightens. “Beatrice ran from you. She hated your guts, and she sought to seek shelter. I never stole anything.”

“No, Matteo. This is personal—between you and me. That bitch belonged to me, and I paid a hefty price for her. Then you go and take her away from me and raise my blood—my heir—as some kind of half-bred mutt. Cunt.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. His insults roll off me like water but if he mentions my son again, I am going to lose my shit.

Giacomo exhales, his smile fading. “Tell me, did you like my little surprise? It’s unfortunate that Emily went a little rogue and fell for you. What she sees in you, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t take you for a man who would send some pussy due to his dirty work.” I am goading him. I want him to lose all sense and composure. The more unhinged he is, the better for me.

“Nice try, Matteo. But your playground tactics won’t work on me, I’m afraid. Using Emily was one of the smartest things I have ever done. She was the enemy from within—the Trojan horse.”

I grind my teeth together. But I don’t speak because the truth of the matter is that he is right. She did slip through the cracks.

“Enjoy the time you have left with your wife, Davacalli. Because the pain I’m going to inflict on you—on her—will be glorious.” His eyes gleam with quiet, terrifying promise. “Tell me, do you think she will ride my dick as well as she rides yours?”

I watch his eyes flick to my waistband, and I know instantly what he wants me to do. I won’t give him the satisfaction. He knows I am carrying, and he wants me to pull the trigger.

This is all about whoever shoots first and ignites the war.