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"I've dreamed of the Italians taking over the city. I've dreamed of being more your prop, your ornament. I've dreamed of ending your abuse."

"With your father done, succession falls to you," Nico states. "I know you want to keep this city safe. You were never going to be my companion – my heart belongs exclusively to one woman. But as the Bratva queen, you could?—"

Anya unleashes a scream unlike anything I've heard. It tears through the air like a canvas shredding beneath a blade – not merely deafening, but multidimensional, as if layered repeatedly, each stroke representing another year of suppressed anguish. If sound could bleed, this would leave crimson streaks.

"Enough!" she exclaims, glaring at her father. "I refuse to hear anymore. I refuse to listen to your vicious lies. You've done unspeakable atrocities, Father... against those girls in the warehouses, the ones you brought home and forced me to witness as you, as you..."

"Now, Anya, compose yourself?—"

"No!"

She redirects her aim toward her father.

Instantaneously, Nico shields me behind him as additional men encircle us protectively.

"I’m not your plaything anymore."

My ears ring with the gunshot's reverberations. Viktor's body jerks as the bullet throws his head back. He slides down the wall, leaving a crimson trail behind.

Anya turns toward us, trembling violently. Deliberately, she lowers her weapon. "I’ll never be happy again," she says tragically.

I push past Nico, cross the room, and extend my arms toward her. She looks at me with astonishment, seemingly bewildered by a stranger's compassion. Yet this experience has taught me that "stranger" doesn’t always mean a lot.

After a momentary hesitation, she collapses into my arms like a lost little girl, erupting into uncontrollable sobs.

"It's over now," I whisper consolingly. "Whatever he did to you, it’s over now. You're safe."

Two additional gunshots reverberate, followed by two thuds as the remaining men crumple to the floor, and then silence descends.

The city is safe.

My mother's killers have faced ultimate justice.

“Clean this mess up," Nico commands. "I'm taking my woman home."

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Nico

Three Weeks Later

"If you’d told me when I was in college, that one day I’d sit around a table with the woman of my dreams, my mother, and a former romantic prospect to strategize this city's security, I would have outright laughed you off."

Mother's smile radiates her characteristic calculating brilliance. We're gathered on my high-rise apartment's balcony... our apartment, I should clarify, not merely because Sienna has relocated here. Her artistic creations adorn every wall.

"Three formidable women to one man – the ratio seems impeccable." Mother adopts a serious expression as she addresses Anya. "In all sincerity, dear, you're demonstrating exceptional leadership."

"With the Italians’ backing, they have no choice but to follow my orders. People want money, not war. It’s going to take some time for the old guard to adjust to the new regime, but it will happen."

"Anyone determined to continue trafficking women or distributing drugs will meet their predecessor's fate."

"Nico," my woman interjects, unquestionably the city's most captivating woman, her hair elegantly styled following her recent salon appointment. As weeks have progressed, she's embraced her position in this transformed reality with increasing confidence. "Anya doesn't need such explicit reminders."

“Please, Sienna,” Anya says. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m just as tough as you are.”

“All three of you are tough, capable women,” I say. “But Anya, Sienna was only trying to help.”

“She’s right.” Sienna smiles tightly at me. “She’s the queen of the Bratva. She doesn’t need my help.”