I haven’t slept in twenty-six hours. My body moves on pure adrenaline, my mind focused on finding Aria. Every second she remains in Fabrizio’s clutches is another second I risk losing her.
My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly they’ve gone numb, but inside my chest burns with rage and fear that keeps me moving forward through the darkness.
“Boss, we’ve got something.” Nicolo’s voice crackles through the radio, cutting through the tense silence in the SUV. “One of D’Angelo’s men just used his credit card at a gas station in Riverdale. The station attendant confirmed he saw three black SUVs heading west toward the Montrose estate area.”
“The Belletti property,” I say immediately, the pieces clicking into place. “Fabrizio bought it through a shell corporation last year. It’s not in his name.”
“That’s why it didn’t appear in our initial search,” Nicolo confirms. “Do we have visual confirmation?”
I press harder on the accelerator, the engine roaring as we cut through the empty pre-dawn streets. “Tell the drone team to get eyes on it now. And have the second team circle from the east. No sirens, no lights. I want complete surprise.”
“Already on it.”
I check my watch—4:17 AM. We’ve been hunting Fabrizio for nearly twelve hours. Twelve hours that Aria has been in his hands. My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood where I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek.
I can’t wait to get her out of there. We got Chiara, and she’s now sitting in one of the other cars following in the convoy. She was worried sick, kept apologizing, but when I asked if she could help, she was all in.
I was furious, of course. Her questions led Aria to danger. But there’s no point in taking it out on Chiara. From her reaction of horror, I knew she was punished enough by the thought of her sister being in danger.
Something tells me Aria’s sister will offer her more comfort than I ever could. The thought stings, but right now, Aria’s safety and peace are all that matter.
“The satellite heat scan shows at least fifteen bodies inside the main house and dozens of guards on the property,” another voice reports through my earpiece. “Two in the upper east wing, isolated from the others.”
“That’s her.” I know it instinctively. “Fabrizio must be keeping her close.”
The radio chatter fades to background noise as my mind races through contingencies. Fabrizio is many things—a sadist, a narcissist, an opportunist—but never a warrior. He’s a businessman who uses violence as a tool, not a way of life. His men are hired muscle, not loyal soldiers. They’ll break when pushed.
Ten minutes later, we’re parked half a mile from the estate’s perimeter. My men gather around me, faces obscured by tactical masks, weapons checked and ready. They know the stakes.
“We have three entry points,” I say, pulling up the drone footage on my tablet. “The main gate is heavily guarded—four men, automatic weapons. The service entrance on the east side has lighter security. The south wall has a blind spot in the camera coverage here.” I tap the screen. “That’s our way in.”
Nicolo nods, already dividing the team.
“And Nicolo?” I holster my gun, check my spare clip, and slip a knife into my boot. “Fabrizio is mine.”
“Understood, boss.”
We move like shadows through the dense tree line that borders the property.
The south wall looms ahead, twelve feet of solid stone. No security cameras on this section, just as the plans indicated. This is an oversight that will cost Fabrizio everything.
I give the signal, and two of my men deploy grappling hooks. We scale the wall one by one, dropping onto the manicured grounds on the other side without a sound.
The estate sprawls before us and we keep to the shadows, avoiding the sweeping security lights as we advance toward the main house.
“Alpha team in position,” comes the whisper through my earpiece.
“Beta team ready.”
I press my back against the cool stone of the house, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I’m certain it’s audible. “Execute.”
A moment of perfect silence, then chaos erupts at the front gates—flash-bangs and shouting, the staccato report of gunfire. As expected, guards pour from the house toward the disturbance, shouting into radios.
We slip through the servant’s entrance, neutralizing the two guards there with quick, efficient movements that leave them unconscious but alive. I need information more than I need vengeance. For now.
We clear each room methodically, moving upward toward the east wing where I know Aria waits.
Two guards stand outside a mahogany door at the end of the upstairs hallway. They barely have time to register our presence before my men take them down with silenced shots to the legs. The men collapse, clutching their wounds, their weapons skittering across the polished floor.
I press my ear to the door, listening for any sound within. Nothing. The knob turns easily under my hand—unlocked. A trap? Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop me from walking through that door.
“Cover me,” I tell Nicolo, then push the door open, gun drawn.
The sight that greets me stops my heart mid-beat.
Fabrizio D’Angelo sits in a leather armchair in the center of the room, one leg crossed casually over the other, a crystal tumbler of scotch in his hand. He looks like a man without a care in the world, despite the armed intruders in his home.
Beside him sits Aria, pale and tense, a faint bruise blooming on her cheek.
Something primal and violent surges through me at the sight of that bruise. I have to force my finger to stay steady on the trigger rather than simply emptying the clip into Fabrizio’s smug face.
“Marco Bianchi.” Fabrizio raises his glass in a mock toast. “I was beginning to think you’d never find us. Though I must say, you took significantly longer than I expected. Losing your touch?”
I ignore him completely, my eyes fixed on Aria. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head slightly, her face a mask of complex emotions I can’t begin to decipher. Relief? Fear? Hatred? All I know is that she’s alive, meeting my gaze without flinching.
“I’m fine,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected.
More rage floods my system, threatening to overwhelm my control. My finger tightens on the trigger a fraction of an inch.
“Now, now,” Fabrizio tuts, setting down his glass with deliberate care. “Let’s all behave like civilized people, shall we? I merely wanted a conversation with you, Marco. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You kidnapped my wife for a conversation?” My voice emerges as a low growl. “You’re either suicidal or more delusional than I thought.”
“Your wife.” Fabrizio’s lips curve into a poisonous smile as he rises, positioning himself directly between me and Aria. “Interesting choice of words, considering the circumstances of your… union.”
Nicolo edges into position behind me, his weapon trained on Fabrizio. Two more of my men flank the doorway, creating a defensive perimeter. I advance slowly, my body coiled tight as a spring.
“Step aside,” I command. “She leaves with me. Now.”
“So eager.” Fabrizio clicks his tongue against his teeth. “But we have so much to discuss. Such as how breaking too many rules for one woman might cause problems in your world. Especially a woman with such… complicated family connections.”
I feel rather than see Aria tense behind him, her eyes darting between us.
“The DeLuca connection,” Fabrizio continues, clearly relishing the moment. “It’s quite the scandal, isn’t it? The son of Salvatore Bianchi married to the daughter of Emilio DeLuca. The very family your father systematically destroyed.”
My jaw clenches so tight I can feel a muscle jump in my cheek. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“On the contrary.” Fabrizio takes a step toward me. “This is exactly the time and place. Your wife deserves to know everything, doesn’t she? About how your father betrayed her family. About how he was their trusted ally, their friend, before he decided power was more valuable than loyalty.”
I catch a glimpse of Aria’s face over Fabrizio’s shoulder—pain etched into every line of her beautiful features. The details of what happened are clearly new to her, and I can see how deeply it cuts. Every word Fabrizio utters feels like another wound driving into her heart.
“Did Marco tell you how it happened, Aria?” Fabrizio’s voice drops, heavy with bitterness as he turns to face her. “How Salvatore wormed his way into your father’s confidence, playing the loyal ally while plotting his downfall? How he earned that trust—only to shatter it with a betrayal so savage, so unforgivable, it still haunts the bloodlines? Your aunt Teresa barely escaped with you and your sister, clutching you like a lifeline, while the Bianchi men tore through the rest—cold, ruthless, merciless. Do you understand what that means? The weight of what was taken from you?”
“Stop,” I say quietly. Part of me knows she needs to hear this—needs to know the whole truth, not just the fragments she’s pieced together.
“And now Salvatore hunts for you again.” Fabrizio turns back to me, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. “While his son plays house with one of the very women he wants dead. Tell me, Marco, does Daddy know who you’ve been fucking?”
The taunt snaps something loose inside me. My control shatters like glass. I lunge forward, gun forgotten as my hands reach for Fabrizio’s throat.
The room explodes into chaos. Gunshots ring out from the doorway as my men clash with guards rushing in. Nicolo’s voice cuts through the noise, shouting for me to stand down. Crystal shatters as Fabrizio stumbles back, knocking over a lamp.
I’m about to lunge for him again when he rolls over, and the next thing I know, he has Aria in his grip.
“Enough!” Fabrizio shouts above the chaos, pressing the barrel against Aria’s temple. My blood turns to ice water in my veins as everyone in the room freezes.
“Tell your men to drop their weapons,” he pants, his composure finally cracking. “Or I put a bullet in her pretty head right now.”
I raise my hand, signaling my men to comply. Weapons clatter to the floor around us. Aria stands rigid against Fabrizio, her eyes locked with mine.
“Let her go,” I say, my voice deadly quiet. “Let her go, and maybe you walk out of here alive.”
Fabrizio laughs, a sharp, brittle sound. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Bianchi. I hold all the cards here.” He drags Aria toward the door, using her as a human shield. “We’ll walk out of here together, your wife and I. My men will escort us to a waiting car. You and your soldiers will stay put until we’re clear of the property.”
“And then what?” I ask, playing for time, my mind racing through options. “You know I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“Perhaps.” Fabrizio shrugs, his confidence returning now that he has the upper hand. “Or perhaps I’ll reach out to your father first.”
Aria’s eyes widen at this, a flash of genuine fear crossing her face for the first time. But beneath it, I see something else—determination. Her body shifts almost imperceptibly, her weight transferring to the balls of her feet.
I recognize the change immediately. She’s preparing to move.
I need to keep Fabrizio talking, keep his attention focused on me. “You think my father will let you live after you tell him? You’re a loose end, Fabrizio. A liability.”
“I’ve survived this long by making myself valuable,” he sneers, taking another step backward, dragging Aria with him. “Information is currency in our world, and I—”
He never finishes his sentence. Suddenly, Aria drops her weight, slipping beneath his arm and driving her elbow into his solar plexus. He doubles over, gasping, but tightens his grip on the gun. A fierce struggle breaks out as we both raise our weapons, desperate to stop D’Angelo—but in the chaos, we can’t tell friend from foe, and risk shooting Aria.
I lunge forward but freeze as the gun goes off, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
The blast splits the air. My heart stops. For one breathless second, I think I’ve lost her. Then Fabrizio staggers backward, a look of disbelief on his face as he presses his hand to a spreading crimson stain on his chest. Aria stands before him, the smoking revolver now clutched in her trembling hands.
“You—” Fabrizio chokes, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “You fucking DeLuca bitch. You’re dead. You’re all dead once Salvatore knows—”
I step forward, placing myself between him and Aria. “She’s not just a DeLuca,” I cut him off coldly. “She’s my wife. And you forgot what that means.”
Fabrizio’s eyes widen slightly, recognition of his fatal miscalculation dawning in them just before the light fades entirely. He crumples to the floor, blood pooling beneath him on the expensive carpet.
Silence descends, broken only by our heavy breathing.
I turn to Aria, my heart in my throat. “Are you—”
The words die on my lips as I see her expression. She’s staring at me, the gun still clutched in her white-knuckled grip, her eyes burning with hatred.
The look reminds me, with a sick lurch in my stomach, of the look in a person’s eyes when they stare down an enemy.
“Aria,” I try again, reaching toward her.
She takes a step back, the gun not quite pointing at me, but not quite pointed away either.
“Don’t touch me.”
The three words hit me like physical blows. I drop my hand, feeling something vital crack inside my chest.
