It’s been a fucking long day. The Terras, the Neros, and eight other clans have been combing the city and the countryside with Sebastian as the point of contact. He reports the most important findings back to me, like Umberto, Randolfo’s brother getting in a car and speeding off from his storefront. Santa Colombinis are everywhere in this area, and the two families don’t usually engage in open hostilities, what with the scrutiny of the polizia. For decades, they’ve had entire departments dedicated to eradicating the mafia.
Unfortunately, you’re no good unless you can think, and I haven’t slept in two days, so in the end, I cave and let Sebastian drop Tatiana and me off at my uncle’s for a nap.
“Call me immediately if you find something,” I clip out.
“Definitely, signore.”
I don’t even make love to her. I fall into deep sleep with Tatiana in my arms. The last thing I remember is the small girl with the heart-shaped face and the braids, hatred burning in her eyes as she called the families to action. She’s a Terra. Her mother fell to Santa Colombini bullets a year ago, and no vendetta was ever conducted. What injustice.
I wake up with a start, alone in the bed.
Tatiana better just be in the bathroom.
She’s not.
I walk through the house, which is empty with the exception of my great aunt and the two guys I’ve got stationed up front. Everyone else is out hunting Colombinis.
“Ciao, Zia,” I begin, kissing my great aunt’s cheek. “Have you seen Tatiana?”
My great aunt bobs her head and tells me the beauty of l’americanina is as pure as that of a Sardinian wedding doll. She pads ahead of me, leading the way to my uncle’s study, and there she is, my queen, on the phone, turning, smiling, and saying her goodbyes as soon as she sees me.
I pull her into my arms, mad that she left my bed. Angry that she’s incorrigible. Relieved that she didn’t leave the house. The saucy little thing would have talked her way out if she wanted to, I realize. She’d outsmart the guys up front in a heartbeat. Isaias wanted a new throwaway. I snort while I kiss the top of her head. What the fuck was that?
My phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and press it against my ear. “Sebastian?”
“Isaias. It’s time.”
I’m satisfied when the midnight moon slides behind a black cloud, leaving the world at the mercy of dim streetlights. Ten cars strong, we storm a dilapidated one-story on the backside of a farm house a couple of miles north of the city.
We splinter the windows on all sides and crash through the front door. Forty of us meet face to face at the heart of its ravaged entrails.
We’re too late.
“This is it, though. They were here. Lorenzo’s photos were taken from right there, through the window. They had Gabriela hanging from the ceiling.” He points at a hook at the center of the living room.
“Well, they’re gone now,” I snap. “Any details on what they were doing?”
Sebastian’s guy steps forward. “Signore. Intimidating her. Seems they wanted answers, so they weren’t letting her faint.”
Fuck. I tug at my hair.
Sebastian’s phone buzzes with new intel. “They’ve been spotted in a dark van heading toward the outskirts, probably Testaprati Island.”
“Get in the cars!”
Gravel crunches under our feet, rustling the calm of the surroundings. I slam the backdoor shut behind Tatiana and get into the front next to Sebastian. Then, we rocket out of the driveway, back to Venice.
“Do we know who lives with the old man at Il Palazzo Rosa?” I ask, forcing calm. The fear of losing what you’ve never had can be crippling. Now, I want him to give me good news, news so new I don’t have it.
“Amedeo likes to keep his famiglia around.” Sebastian floats a look at me before returning to the road. “The wife is still alive. Randolfo’s eldest brother lives there, and the youngest sister, I believe, never moved out. There are some grandkids, Umberto’s woman and such, apart from the staff.”
Family ties are everything. Treason from a family member means death in general, and the Santa Colombini are infamous for their cruelty. The odds of Gabriela and Ariadna being under the same hostile roof right now are huge. If the girls can’t keep the truth concealed—
Intense pain shoots through my brain. It’s like a streak of lightning, and I groan, steadying my head in my hands. I don’t have time for this.
“I want all women and children alive,” I say.
Sebastian stares at me questioningly.
“I don’t care if they’re Colombini. I want them all alive.”
“Got it.”
A single man glides off in a motorless boat. We watch him disappear from sight, knowing he’ll dive in once he’s close to the shore of Testaprati Island.
On our side, every Nascimbeni loyal joins the Terra, the Nero, the Feltrini, and the Casaconti. They congregate silently, forming a circle around us, hands rubbing their guns and talking quietly. It takes our spy fifteen minutes to return.
Tatiana stands next to me, the only woman in this group. Her eyes are large, the whites of her eyes glinting in the low light.
“Signori.” Our spy gives a curt nod to me, then to Sebastian, the ocean water glistening in his hair. “You were right. Umberto is back, and his van is in the front yard. All car doors are open as if they were in a hurry.”
“How many men do you estimate in there?”
“Hard to tell without going all the way in. The property is large and the fence high—”
“Just give me a guess,” I mutter. “We’re out of time.”
“Well, I saw four cars in the driveway. We know he usually has about a dozen men stationed on the property when he’s gone, so it’d be them plus however many were in the cars.”
I rub two fingers over my chin. “Fifty?”
“Sounds about right.”
I look around me. Start counting my men. All these loyals detest the Santa Colombini from the depths of their hearts. They’ve had their stores burned down, their daughters raped, their sons maimed. I stop counting when a small dark man in the front husks out, “Trecentouno.”
“Three hundred and one men,” Sebastian translates.
I turn to Tatiana. Those eyes of hers. I don’t want them to shut forever.
“Please?” I murmur though I could easily have her removed by force. She holds my stare. Then she nods. I swallow, looking her over. “I can have someone drive you back to the house?”
She crosses her arms, tipping her chin up. “Yeah.”
“Because I don’t want you hurt.”
“I know you don’t.”
“And this is going to be a bloodbath.”
“I’m aware.”
I swallow again. Around me, the men shift restlessly.
I lean forward, grab her chin, and pull her against my mouth. While I kiss her, I inhale the scent of warm sugar through my nostrils. It could be for the last time.
“Straight home,” I say. “Straight back to my uncle’s house.”
She nods again, eyes twinkling, and hikes a thumb backward at my little cousin Federico. It’s a good choice; Federico shouldn’t be here anyway. He’s too young to die.
“Isaias?” Her voice is so low it’s barely audible.
“Yeah?”
“Stay safe.”
“I will.” The air is colder than it should be at this time of year. I watch her walk off. I’m not the only man curving my eyes over her slight shape as she glides back toward the cars. Federico follows. Holds the door of a small Fiat open for her. The car rocks a little as she hops in, and I feel a fucking whole lot lighter when that door slams shut and they drive off.
“So. We’re three hundred and one men strong?”
Sebastian curls his lip in a grin. “Almost.”
“Easy.” I lift my fist in the air and shake it once to my men. And for a nine-year-old with a lot to lose, I roar, “Avanti!”
Dozens of boats filled with vengeance pull up on the south edge of Testaprati Island. The sky is black, the moon tipping in and out of the clouds for seconds at a time. We advance quickly. Every man focused on conquest and destruction, this peaceful night is about to be broken.
Sebastian’s van secures the bridge; two muffled shots is all it takes, and then the gates slide open. For a full minute, they’re in plain view as they cross it, the low white railing no match for the scrutiny of potential spectators.
We’re coming at the Santa Colombini headquarters from all sides. Adrenaline spikes in my blood while we run up from the beach, knowing Sebastian is about to break in from the front.
A tall, black fence ending in jagged arrowheads guards the property. A few men scale the ten-foot construction, too hyped up to wait. At my right, ironworkers from the Terra family wrench the bars open, creating man-sized holes at ground level for the rest to move through. On command, the alarm blares from the front yard.
A Nero man sends me a triumphant grin, and I grin back; perfect timing on the breach of Sebastian’s van, indeed. I duck through the hole.
On instinct, I lift my eyes to a second-story window. It’s oval, broad, with red curtains stopping the light from sifting out. The silhouettes, plum-colored against the lighter fabric, are unmistakable; a large man has his hands on someone smaller, and the cowering I see makes my blood boil. Fuck me if that’s not stopping right now.
We hack our way through a back entrance that turns out to be open. Talk about cocky. They’ve taken Gabriela hostage and they think they’re safe from me?
I stalk up the grand staircase with Nascimbeni men on my heel. Downstairs, our loyals fight Colombinis: gunshots ring through the house, windows shatter, and China cabinets crash to the floor.
I scan the surroundings. Doors parade down the corridor, one after the other, becoming smaller in what almost seems like a tunnel. So many fucking doors.
Her turret. The door to the spiral staircase is open, tempting me, but that’s not where I saw them. They were on the east side.
A choked scream a few doors up. Ariadna? Please, don’t let it be her.
The sound drowns. I run, run down the hallway. Stop. Grab a handle and press down as tiny whimpers sieve through the wood. Locked! I ram my shoulder into it.
“I don’t think so,” I hear behind me. Then, I’m ripped away. “Man to man, Nascimbeni. Defend yourself!” It’s Umberto’s son. Hate blazes in his eyes as I block his first punch.
I knee him in the stomach, making him double over, but he straightens quickly and launches an elbow into my shoulder. For a second, my vision blackens from the pain. On autopilot, I keep fighting. The black dots retreat, and when I can see him again, I get him in a headlock.
As if in slow motion, three stairways fill with people who aren’t mine. The hallway is a sea of Santa Colombini fighting Nascimbeni, Nero, and Casaconti. My men are strong. They’re brave, and they fight with every fiber in them, but we aren’t trecentouno against fifty Colombini. Fuck, no, that’s not how this is.
“No! Pappa, per favore!” She yelps behind the door, and that voice is not Gabriela’s—No, no it isn’t.
“Ma non mi ami più?” She screams it to her father in a voice that opens a gash no mobster could make bigger in my chest—“Daddy, don’t you love me anymore?”
I wasn’t there for her nine years ago. I’m not there for her now. But goddamn, I am Isaias di Nascimbeni, and I’ll get in there. I’ll take that room by storm, because if it’s the last thing I do I’ll make a difference in my girl’s life.
I ram Matteo’s skull into the doorframe, the crack audible as his eyes stop moving. For a second, their whites fester with fine, bloody veins.
One after the other, doors spring open. This corridor is a nightmare, a horrific display of a deadly ambush. The Santa Colombini knew all along. They set us up—I know it now. They made us discover Gabriela in that farmhouse. They made us trace her here.
The hallway teems with Colombinis pressing in on us, spreading my men flat on the floor, maiming and killing. We slaughter too, but when there’s three to one—four to one and they laugh and drop us like flies?
For a fraction of a moment, my mind goes silent. In that moment, I realize it’s over. I’m Isaias di Nascimbeni, the man, not the god. I’m just a man whose love is locked away, in terror, being wiped off the face of the Earth because of me.
I roar out my despair, while her pain bleeds through too-thick wood behind me. I push against the door with all my force. Unseeing, I kill a Colombini coming at me, grab his handgun, kill two more. They drop to the floor, but her door doesn’t budge. She’s in there—I’m sure she is—I throw my weight against the door, making the wood groan. Three new Colombinis come at me with death in their eyes.
An explosion outside. More men running up the stairs. They’re not killing the few men I have left up here. They’re clipping Colombinis?
I don’t know these people. Who are they?
They wear jackets. Deep red jackets.
Blood seeps into my eyes—makes sense that I’m hurt too.
I freeze, recognizing Tatiana at the front of the red-jackets. Dressed in black from head to toe, she’s wearing an over-the-head face mask. Yes, her eyes give her away, but mostly, it’s the gold of her hair. Such a quirk of hers. Not in a nun habit, not in a spy’s disguise, does she manage to tuck her mane away.
Fuck, she shouldn’t be here, such a small person in the midst of a whirlwind of assassins. She stalks forward, crystal-brights on me. Transfixed, I watch her wind closer. How is it so easy for her between dying soldiers and fresh corpses? I slam my body against the door. Again. Again. Again.
The red-jackets. They’re hers. They follow her every step, guarding her, cutting people down, killing for her. Tatiana’s men pour up the backstairs, the main staircase, even the service elevator. They capture. Handcuff. Collect. Systematically, they’re taking over, eradicating the remnants of our war.
Brass-colored coils eat their way down her shoulders, bouncing with each step toward me. The beautiful Tatiana of the Valley lifts a black handgun and aims it at me. It’s perfect in her hand, small, dainty but strong like she is. With my Glock clenched along my side, I slam my back against the door, slam it, slam it.
“Pappa, per favore. No. No!”
Tatiana squints, fringed lashes obscuring crystals I’ve drowned in.
The bullet explodes out.
I see it.
I can see it.
It moves so slowly, doesn’t it?