Chapter 38
RAFAEL
The air smells like wet earth and high-octane fuel.
I’m crouched behind a stone pillar on the elevated walkway overlooking the west wing of the Villa d'Este. It’s just before dawn. The world is bathed in a sickly, artificial orange glow from the security floods, but beyond the light, my men are moving like shadows through the pines.
I check the action on my rifle, the cold steel a comfort against my palm.
My shoulder is screaming—a sharp, hot reminder of the bullet I took for a woman who lied to me from the second she married me.
But the pain is a tether. It keeps me focused.
It keeps me from thinking about the way she looked in that slip when I left her at the estate.
"Targets in sight," Matteo’s voice crackles in my earpiece. He’s in the command van a mile out, his voice as calm as a goddamn priest’s at confession. "O’Rourke convoy is entering the kill zone. Salvatore’s lead vehicle is behind them. They’re taking the bait, Rafe. Every single one of them."
"Copy," I mutter, my finger ghosting over the trigger. "Wait for the lead to hit the fountain. Then shut the world down."
I watch through the thermal scope. Three black SUVs roll into the courtyard, their tires crunching on the gravel Gia told them would be clear.
Killian O’Rourke steps out of the first vehicle, adjusting his coat, looking like he already owns the Brotherhood’s territory.
He thinks he’s here for a leadership summit. He thinks he’s here to watch me die.
"Fucking idiot," I whisper.
The lead SUV reaches the center of the fountain.
"Now," Matteo commands.
The world explodes.
The first RPG hits the lead vehicle, a violent, blooming flower of orange flame that tosses the two-ton SUV into the air like a toy. The sound is a physical blow, a deafening CRACK that echoes off the villa’s stone walls.
"Contact! Contact!" the Irish are screaming, their voices frantic as the darkness around them suddenly starts spitting lead.
My strike teams open up from the elevated walkways. It’s not a firefight; it’s a harvest. We have the high ground, the cover, and the element of surprise that Gia bought us with her betrayal. I see Killian dive behind a stone planter, his men falling around him in heaps of black tactical gear.
I’m not looking for O’Rourke. I’m looking for the silver-haired snake who orchestrated this whole goddamn tragedy.
"Matteo, where is Salvatore?" I roar over the staccato rhythm of the M4s. "I don't see his vehicle in the courtyard."
"Checking the thermal," Matteo says, his voice sharpening. "Fuck! The third vehicle—the one we thought was Salvatore—it’s empty. It’s a decoy, Rafe. He peeled off two miles back."
My blood turns to ice.
The compound. Laura.
"He went for the girls," I growl, already moving. I don't wait for orders. I don't wait for the perimeter to clear. I vault over the stone railing, my feet hitting the gravel with a jarring impact that sends a fresh bolt of agony through my shoulder.
"Rafael! Stay on station!" Dante shouts from the opposite walkway.
"Fuck the station!" I yell back, sprinting toward my hidden bike. "He’s at the holding facility! He knows she flipped! He’s going to kill them both!"
I’m on the Ducati in seconds, the engine roaring to life between my legs.
I peel out of the courtyard, dodging a spray of glass as an O'Rourke soldier tries to lead me with a submachine gun.
I don't even return fire. I just floor it, the bike screaming as I tear down the narrow, winding road toward the De Luca compound.
If he touches her... if he so much as breathes on her, I will dismantle him piece by fucking piece.
The drive is a blurred nightmare of wind and adrenaline.
My mind is a frantic loop of everything she told me.
The video of the little girl. The tracker.
The way Gia looked when she said she loved me.
I didn't believe her then—I was too busy being a hurt, arrogant bastard—but as the miles melt away, the truth is unavoidable.
She chose us. She handed her father’s head to me on a platter, knowing he’d come for her. She walked into danger to save a sister who never should have been a pawn.
I reach the compound gates. They’re open.
There are bodies on the ground—De Luca guards, their blood dark on the concrete.
Enzo and Luca. They’re already inside.
I skid the bike to a halt, drawing my Beretta in one fluid motion. The alarm is wailing, a high-pitched, soul-shredding sound that tells me the extraction has been blown.
I run through the main foyer, my shoes echoing like gunshots. I pass a hallway where a Brotherhood soldier is checking a room.
"Where are they?" I snap.
"Interior wing, Boss! Second floor! We have a visual on the girl, but Salvatore’s retreating into the corridor!"
I don't wait for the elevator. I take the stairs three at a time, my lungs burning, my shoulder screaming in a language of pure fire. I hit the second-floor landing and see the blood on the floor.
No, no… God, please no, you can’t take her from me.