Damian paced the floor of the cyber lab, watching the feeds on two of the monitors as several people tapped at keyboards on other computers. He’d turned on the cameras as a precaution before he’d left the apartment with Aria. He hadn’t expected to catch two men trashing the place, spray painting on the weathered brick walls of his living room, cutting open the cushions of his sofa, trashing his art.

They’d been smart enough to wear ski masks, but he had no doubt that they were Primo’s men. Would have known they were Primo’s men even without the angry red letters on his walls.

He cursed, turned off the monitors. The destruction of his Tribeca apartment was a risk he’d taken when he’d chosen a building without a doorman. So far the cameras on the Westchester estate showed nothing out of the ordinary. Damian assumed it was further down Fiore’s hit list.

“I’ve got the latest, boss,” Cole said, stepping into the room. He handed a stack of papers to Damian. “Sent a couple guys over to your place to hold down the fort in case those assholes come back.”

“They won't be coming back,” Damian said. “They delivered their message.”

He flipped through the papers in his hands. There had been over twenty hits on Fiore operations since eight o’clock that morning, with more scheduled after dark. They’d taken out Platinum, all of Primo’s bookmaking operations, the strip clubs he used to wash money, two of their safe houses. They’d had four injuries — three gunshots and a knife wound — all of which were being taken care of in the medical ward on-site. The assault on the Fiore operation would continue for the next seventy-two hours, fanning outward from the city, upstate and over to Connecticut, west to New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

Primo had been late to the party. The attack had obviously taken him by surprise, probably because he’d expected the fire at the shelter to be the impetus that would force Damian to act. He couldn’t know that Damian had been preparing the strategy since he’d left the club after their failed negotiation.

He handed the papers back to Cole. “I read the reports. I want your assessment.”

“The city’s under control,” Cole said. “There are still a few hot spots, a few places still under fire, but I think we’ll take them before the night is through.”

“NYPD?”

“Adhering to our agreement for the most part,” Cole said.

“Good. Let’s clean it up before the day is out,” Damian said. “They won’t be able to stay out of it forever.”

“Will do, boss.”

“What about our friends?” Damian asked.

The Syndicate’s team was operating under their jurisdiction but under its own control.

“Pros all the way,” Cole said. “Hit their targets clean and fast.”

“Good.”

Cole shuffled nervously on his feet.

“What is it?” Damian asked.

Cole’s gaze touched on the people manning the monitors, most of them following Cavallo vehicles on GPS to route them around police or listening to comms of the men on the ground in case they needed backup. “Can I have a word?” he asked.

They stepped into the hall. “What is it?”

“The hit on your place,” Cole said, “is that personal?”

Damian knew what he was asking, and if it had been anyone but Cole Grant he would have told him to go fuck himself. Personal was personal. Which meant nobody’s business but his.

But he owed the truth to Cole.

Damian nodded. “It is now.”

Cole tried to keep his face impassive. Asking was one thing, passing judgement was something even Cole wouldn’t dare. “I take it she came to you?”

“She did.” Damian kept his voice flat, not wanting to betray the feeling of protectiveness, of possessiveness, that swept his body at the thought of Aria still in his bed.

“What does this mean for our operation?” Cole asked.

“Nothing changes,” Damian said. “The plan should be executed like we discussed, except now you can hit his apartment too.”

“Word is they’re in hiding,” Cole said.

“Flush them out, bring them in.” He hesitated. If he had it his way, he’d kill Primo himself for what he’d done to Aria, but Primo was her brother. It wasn’t his call. Not right now. “Keep Primo alive. I don’t give a fuck what you do with Gatti.”

Cole nodded. “You should be laying low too, you know.”

He was right. It was standard operating procedure for the head of any family to go underground during a war. A serious adversary would seek to cut the head off the snake as a way to neutralize the organization.

And Damian was that head.

“Not my style to lay low,” he said.

“I know, but it’s the best thing, especially with the girl in the mix,” Cole said. “You’re more valuable to us alive. We’ll secure the city tonight, fan out in the coming days. Anything we need you for you can do via phone or computer.”

Damian didn’t like the idea of leaving the city, but it was the best thing for the organization. It would fall quickly without a leader, and his men deserved better than that.

He nodded reluctantly. “Stay in touch. I’ll keep you posted on my whereabouts.”

“Will do,” Cole said.

He asked a few more questions as he walked with Damian to the elevator. The doors were about to close when Damian thought of something else.

“Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Put a few men on the Westchester property,” Damian said.

The apartment in Tribeca was replaceable. The house in Westchester wasn’t.

“You got it.”

The doors closed, and Damian rode to the lobby thinking about the big, empty house. He had the sudden urge to take Aria there. To show her the two-story library, the terrace that overlooked the woods, the greenhouse where his mother had tended to her orchids and roses. He could picture Aria there, surrounded by greenery, planting, creating life even when there was snow on the ground beyond the greenhouse’s glass walls.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to show it to her, then felt stupid for thinking it. They’d only met a few days before, so why did it feel natural to imagine her in his life? Why was it so easy to picture her at the house that had been in his family for generations? And why was he so anxious to get back to her when normally he’d be orchestrating his exit?

It didn’t make sense, and he turned his thoughts to more practical matters as he got in the car and headed toward Long Island. The city was a mess. Aria couldn’t go back there, and the island wasn’t far enough away. He was sure Primo wouldn’t find the house there — it was well hidden behind several shell companies — but he was less sure Aria wouldn’t try to reason with her brother. Now that the war was under way, her interference could be deadly for her and others. The best chance they had was for her to stay clear of it all until the dust settled, and that meant getting her far away from chaos that was unfolding.

He waited until he was clear of the city to dial his phone. Farrell Black picked up on the second ring.

“Problems?”

“No,” Damian said. He wouldn’t qualify anything that had happened in his war with Primo as a problem he couldn’t handle. Aria concerned him more, but she was none of Black’s business. “Tell Vitale I’m coming to Rome.”

“If you’re not having problems, why do you want to see Nico?”

“It’s personal.”

“And here I thought we were friends.”

The lazy brand of humor in Farrell’s voice caused Damian’s annoyance to flare.

“You said I’d be a partner if I joined you,” Damian said. “I want to talk to one of your other partners.”

There was a moment’s hesitation on the line. “I’ll clear it with him and get back to you.”

Damian hung up and increased his speed on the highway. Aria was waiting — and the clock was already ticking on their time together.