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"We can’t afford to pretend," I whisper. "Not until it’s over. Not until Zano’s buried six feet under."

He doesn’t argue. He just kisses the top of my head.

"I know," he says. "But it’s okay to wish for five more minutes."

I smile faintly, eyes stinging. "I’ll take two. Then we burn it all down."

And when he laughs softly and pulls me closer, I let myself believe—for just a moment—that after all of this, maybe we’ll get more than two minutes.

XXX

The drive to the penthouse is all quiet tension and gray skies. Lazaro’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping a steady rhythm against his thigh like he’s counting down to war. I can feel the energy radiating off him—coiled, sharp, barely contained.

The road winds out of the hills and into the city. Trees blur past. Concrete closes in. And that illusion of calm we had at the estate? It’s already starting to evaporate.

He glances at me, voice low. "We could’ve stayed a little longer. Pretended we had more time."

I stare straight ahead. "Pretending won’t bury Zano."

He doesn’t argue. Just exhales through his nose and presses harder on the gas.

"Peace only comes when that bastard’s gone," I say. "And when we make damn sure no one ever tries to rebuild what he built."

Lazaro remains quiet after that, but I see the way his grip on the wheel tightens. The city unfolds ahead of us—steel and glass rising like teeth. It looks like a battlefield. Feels like one, too.

We’re not coming home.

We’re stepping into the next round.

The elevator groans as we descend into the penthouse archive floor, and the second the doors slide open, it's like stepping into the belly of the beast. Rows of metal cabinets line the walls—cold, clinical, and packed to the brim with proof of sins no one wants to admit.

Lucrezia’s already at a table, her posture razor-straight, scrolling through open files on her laptop with that signature steel-eyed focus. "You’ll want the 2014 Bravari manifest," she says without looking up. "First shipment tied to Zano’s cousin."

Aaron and Ethan are already there when we step off the elevator—posted up at their stations like they never left. Both of them are hunched over glowing monitors, fingers flying across keyboards, and the tension in the room is electric.

"About time you two showed up," Ethan says, not looking up. His tone’s dry, but there’s a current of intensity under it.

Aaron swivels slightly in his chair. "Lucrezia pulled six hours of surveillance from the 'Civetta' server. It’s worse than we thought."

I shoot Lazaro a look. He nods, a wicked smile already creeping in.

"How much worse?" I ask.

"They weren’t just moving people," Aaron replies, his voice low. "They were keeping records. Everything. Routes, buyers, timestamps. It’s all here."

Ethan finally looks up. "We’ve got them by the throat, Calista. We just need to squeeze."

And I intend to.

Aaron whistles low. "Never seen so much dirt stacked in one place."

"Zano’s entire empire is dirt," I snap. "This is just the grave we’re digging."

Ethan shrugs off his coat and tosses it onto a chair. "Let’s get our hands filthy, then."

I roll my sleeves up and stride to the table. "Let’s gut this fucker."

What follows is a flurry of chaos. Ethan boots up the encrypted network. Aaron starts tagging location logs. Lucrezia pulls receipts, ledgers, bribes—names I’ve heard whispered in fear now printed in bold ink. Lazaro’s beside me, silent but alert, watching everything.