I crouch behind the concrete barrier, the pistol cold against my palms, and watch the Bianchi compound through night-vision goggles.
Forty-eight hours of preparation have led to this moment. There are fifty men positioned around the perimeter with military-grade explosives ready to breach the walls.
My child’s future depends on the next hour.
The compound spreads before us like a fortress with its high walls, guard towers, razor wire gleaming under floodlights.
Marco’s home.
And the beating heart of the Bianchi war machine.
Weapons, logistics, command—it all runs through here. When I lived there, I saw the patterns: the armed shipments, the constant rotation of high-ranking enforcers, the vault entrances guarded day and night.
Salvatore keeps his empire’s muscle here because he thinks no one would dare strike it.
He was wrong.
This won’t kill him. But it’ll break his spine—and make him bleed before I finish the job.
The place I once called my own.
Now I’m here to tear it all down.
My radio crackles. “Alpha team in position.”
“Bravo team ready.”
“Charlie team locked and loaded.”
Three teams. Three entry points. Just like we planned.
I key my mic. “This is for my parents. This is for our future. No mercy.”
Fifty voices respond in unison: “No mercy.”
But before I can give the final order, Chiara grabs my arm, her eyes burning with urgency.
“Aria, stop. Please. You still have time to walk away from this.”
Her voice cracks—softer now, but no less fierce.
“We have what we came for—truth, answers, the loyalty of families who believe in you. Don’t throw that away. Don’t throw yourself away.”
I try to pull free, but she won’t let go.
“Think about the baby. The kind of life you want to build. You can’t lay the foundation of a family on fire and bones. This war might end Salvatore—but what if it ends you, too?”
She’s trembling now. Pleading.
“This doesn’t have to be your legacy. Honor our parents, Aria. But don’t lose yourself trying to avenge them.”
“I won’t bring a child into a world where that man still draws breath,” I whisper. “My baby deserves safety. Not silence.”
“And what if you lose yourself in this war? What if you become just like him?”
For a moment—just a heartbeat—I falter. Because somewhere deep in my chest, Marco’s voice still echoes from the club. The way he looked at me like I was his entire world.
But then I remember who I am.
“I won’t,” I say, as much to myself as to her. “I can’t.”
I key the radio. “All teams, execute. Execute. Execute.”
The world explodes.
The first breaching charge detonates against the eastern wall, sending chunks of concrete flying like shrapnel. The sound rolls across the compound like thunder, followed immediately by two more explosions as the other teams breach their entry points.
Floodlights swing wildly, trying to track targets that move like shadows. Alarm bells shriek through the night air. Shouts in Italian echo from the guard towers.
“Go! Go! Go!” I scream into my radio, and suddenly we’re moving.
My bodyguards flank me as we sprint toward the breach in the eastern wall. Smoke pours from the gap, providing perfect cover. My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline singing through my veins like electricity.
This is it. This is war.
We pour through the breach into chaos. Gunfire erupts from three directions at once—muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like deadly stars.
My men spread out in perfect formation, just like we drilled.
But something feels wrong.
I can’t put my finger on it at first. The resistance is there—Marco’s soldiers firing from behind cover, shouting orders, falling back toward the main house. But it feels staged—like I’m just playing a part in someone else’s script.
“Alpha team, report,” I bark into my radio as we advance across the courtyard.
“Minimal resistance. They’re falling back faster than expected.”
“Bravo team?”
“Same here. It’s like they’re not even trying to hold the perimeter.”
That’s when it hits me. They’re not retreating.
They’re funneling.
Herding us exactly where they want us—deep into the belly of the beast. Every inch we gain is one Marco handed us with a leash in the other hand.
Toward the main house.
Toward him.
A flash-bang explodes twenty feet to my left, and suddenly the world goes white and silent.
When my vision clears, my bodyguards are scattered, pinned down by crossfire from positions that weren’t there seconds ago.
Hidden positions. Pre-planned kill zones.
This is a trap.
“Fall back!” I scream, but my voice is lost in the chaos.
Gunfire echoes off the compound walls, creating a deafening echo chamber.
Smoke grenades detonate in sequence, filling the air with thick gray clouds that make it impossible to see three feet in any direction.
I spin in a circle, trying to locate my men through the haze. “Ettore! Chiara! Anyone!”
Nothing but static on the radio.
I’m alone.
More gunfire erupts from my left—not the controlled bursts of my assault teams, but the wild spray of panic. Glass shatters somewhere in the distance.
My men are getting slaughtered.
No.
Not slaughtered.
Separated. Confused.
Marco’s forces aren’t trying to kill them—they’re trying to scatter them.
But why? Isn’t it easier to kill us when we’re together?
A bullet whines past my ear, close enough that I feel the wind displacement. I dive behind a marble fountain, heart hammering so hard I can barely hear my own thoughts.
The fountain provides cover, but I’m completely exposed.
No backup.
No clear escape route.
I need to find someplace safe. For the first time since all this started, I feel fear. Instinctively, I cradle my belly. If anything happens to me…
My radio finally crackles to life. Ettore’s voice, tinny and distant: “Aria, where are you? This is all wrong. They’re not defending—they’re herding us.”
“I know,” I gasp, pressing against the marble base.
“Boss,” comes another voice—one of the team leaders. “We’re taking heavy fire from positions that shouldn’t exist. It’s like they knew exactly where we’d breach.”
Because they did know. Marco helped me acquire weapons from the Russians. Marco let me gather intelligence on his compound. Marco allowed this attack to happen exactly the way I planned it.
Which means everything I thought I knew about tonight is wrong.
Another explosion rocks the compound, closer this time. Debris rains down around the fountain. Through the smoke, I catch glimpses of my men retreating toward the outer walls—some carrying wounded, others firing blindly into the haze.
The assault is collapsing.
And I’m trapped in the center of it.
Movement catches my eye through the smoke. A figure approaching from the direction of the main house—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with lethal purpose. I raise my rifle, finger on the trigger, but the smoke shifts and he’s gone.
Like a ghost.
Marco?
My radio crackles again, Ettore’s voice urgent: “Aria, get out of there. Something’s wrong with this whole operation. They’re playing with us.”
He’s right. Marco’s soldiers were supposed to be elite, but they’re retreating like amateurs.
Unless they’re not retreating.
Unless they’re clearing a path.
The gunfire is moving away from me now, following my men toward the outer walls. The smoke is beginning to thin. And suddenly, impossibly, I find myself alone in the courtyard with nothing but silence and the distant sound of my army being systematically dismantled.
The main house looms ahead of me—massive, imposing, its windows dark except for a single light in what I know is Marco’s study. The front door stands slightly ajar, spilling golden light across the marble steps.
An invitation.
Or a trap.
Probably both.
But what choice do I have? My bodyguards are scattered. My assault teams are in full retreat.
The only way to safety is through that door.
I check my gun—fully loaded, safety off. My hands are steadier than they should be, considering I’m about to enter the lion’s den.
Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it’s pure fury.
Maybe it’s the certainty that this was always how it would end.
Just me and him.
No armies. No allies. No lies.
As I climb toward the front door, the marble steps are slick with dew. Behind me, the sounds of battle grow more distant.
They’ll be fine. Marco doesn’t want to destroy my army. He wants to humiliate it. To prove that even my best efforts can’t touch him.
To prove that I need him more than I need my war.
I reach the front door and pause, rifle raised, finger on the trigger. The golden light spills across my boots, warm and welcoming. Like coming home.
I push the door open.
The foyer is empty.
No sign of life.
He’s here. Somewhere. Waiting.
The radio on my belt crackles one final time. Ettore’s voice, urgent and confused: “Aria, this doesn’t make sense. Why would they let you into the main house? Why clear a path? It’s like they want you inside.”
I key the mic with my free hand, never taking my eyes off the grand staircase. “Because they do want me inside. This was never about the compound. It was about getting me here. Alone.”
“Then get out. Now. Before—”
I switch off the radio.
Because it’s too late for escape. Too late for regrets. Too late for anything except the truth.
Marco let me build an army so he could watch me fall.
He let me plan this assault so he could prove it was pointless.
He let me walk into his house so he could remind me where I belong.
And God help me, part of me is impressed by the elegance of it.
This is what it means to be married to Marco Bianchi.
This is what I’ve been fighting against.
And this is what I’ve secretly been craving all along.
I put down my rifle and wait.
Because ready or not, this war is about to become very, very personal.
