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"WHAT MESSAGE?!"

"A note. Addressed to both of you." Dante's voice remains controlled, but I hear the fury simmering beneath. "It said, 'Blood for blood, Castellano for Volkov. The debt is settled.'"

Grief hits me like a bomb, driving the air from my lungs.

Not grief for the father who sold me like cattle, who traded me for territory and protection.

But grief for the man who taught me to be strong, who shaped me into the woman who could survive in this world of blood and darkness.

Antonio's hand finds my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin as he steadies himself, holding the emotion better than me.

"They killed him because of us," he whispers. "Because we escaped. Because you saved me."

"No," Dante's voice cuts through the haze of shock. "They killed him because they are cowards who couldn't reach their true targets. This is on them, not you. Not us."

I look up at him, finding fury rather than consolation in his eyes.

"Vladimir is certain it was Dmitri's order?" I ask, grasping for the practical details that might help me process this impossible news.

Dante nods. "His signature method. It's pretty clear. He's sending a message that no one escapes the Volkovs without consequences."

Silence falls over our small group as the implications settle.

My father is dead.

Dead.

The Castellano empire left without its patriarch. The man who raised me, who shaped me, who ultimately betrayed me… gone by another's hand before any reconciliation was possible.

"I need to go," Antonio says suddenly. "I need to be there. The funeral—"

"Is being arranged by your father's consigliere," Dante interjects. "Vladimir has already confirmed it's being handled with appropriate discretion and dignity."

"But the business, the territories—"

"Will be secured," Dante promises. "I give you my word, Antonio. Nothing that belonged to your father will be lost in the chaos. Not while I draw breath."

The vehemence in his tone catches us both by surprise. This is not strategic placation or empty comfort. This is oath and promise bound together in steely determination to protect those in his heart.

"We leave for London tomorrow as planned," Dante continues. "But first, if you are ready, Francesca, we can honor your father our way."

"Okay."

***

As the sun begins its descent behind the Italian hills, long shadows falling across the villa's garden, we gather for a private memorial that Dante and Maria have arranged while Antonio and I ponder our father's loss.

I stare at the small altar Maria has arranged in the garden, my father's photograph propped against fresh flowers.

"I'll kill you myself."

Those were my last words to him at the opera.

Now someone else has done it for me, and I feel... empty.

Not relieved. Not vindicated.

Just… hollow.