Chapter 10 #2
The team dispersed to prepare. Giulio coordinated the security team—four of our best men, armed, experienced. Rocco pulled up building blueprints, camera placements, guard rotations. Matteo handled logistics—vehicles, escape routes, medical standby.
Paola disappeared to change.
Piero stayed with me, watching as I loaded a weapon with practiced efficiency.
"You know this could go very wrong," he said quietly.
"Everything since the wedding has gone wrong. This is just another complication."
"Is she worth it? Really worth risking everything?"
I didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Piero nodded slowly. "Then I'm with you. Whatever happens."
"You should stay here. Command center. If this goes south, someone needs to manage the fallout."
"Fuck that. You're my brother. Where you go, I go."
The solidarity meant more than I could articulate, even though it could jeopardize everything if we both ended up in harm’s way. "Thank you."
Paola emerged from the bedroom in dark jeans, a black sweater, her hair pulled back. She looked younger. Smaller. Vulnerable without the armor of designer clothes and diamonds.
But her eyes were determined.
I handed her a Kevlar vest. "Put this on."
"Do you really think—"
"Put it on. Non-negotiable."
She did, adjusting it over the sweater. Too big—sized for my men—but it would work.
I showed her a small panic button disguised as a phone charm. "Clip this to your belt loop. If anything happens—if we get separated, if you're in danger—you press this. It sends your location to every phone on our network."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Paola. Anything feels wrong, you press that button and you run. You don't wait for me. You don't try to be heroic. You survive. Understood?"
She met my eyes. "Understood."
I pulled her close, kissed her forehead. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"I know."
But we both knew that wasn't a promise I could actually keep.
The team assembled in my foyer at 3:30 a.m.—eight people total. Me, Paola, Piero, Giulio, and four security specialists. Rocco staying behind to monitor cameras and communications remotely. Matteo staying to manage contingencies.
I ran through the plan one more time:
"We enter through the basement garage. Service corridor to Viktor's building.
We have a thirty-second window when the cameras loop—Rocco will handle that remotely.
Three locked doors between us and Viktor's private elevator.
Giulio's team handles those. We go up to Viktor's penthouse.
Fast, quiet, professional. We locate Bianca and the documents.
If Viktor is there, we handle him. Preferably without killing him—that would cause too many complications. But if necessary..." I left it hanging.
"We retrieve the documents, secure Bianca if possible, extract the same way we came in. Total time inside the building: fifteen minutes maximum. Any longer and response teams will arrive."
Giulio added: "Rules of engagement: no shots unless absolutely necessary. Suppressors on all weapons. We're ghosts. In and out."
Everyone nodded understanding.
Two vehicles—one SUV for me, Paola, Piero, and Giulio. A second for the security team.
The city at 3:45 in the morning was different—quieter, darker, more dangerous. Empty streets and shuttered storefronts. The hour when predators owned the night.
Paola sat in the back seat next to me, hand clasped in mine. Neither of us spoke. What was there to say? We were about to break into a rival Don's home, potentially kill her sister, steal documents that could destroy us.
Just another night in the mafia.
Her breathing was controlled but rapid. Scared. Of course she was.
"You can still back out," I murmured. "Stay in the car. No one would blame you."
"I'm not backing out."
"Stubborn."
"You married me before you knew me. You have a lot to learn, husband."
There was a hint of sauciness in her voice, and I liked it more than I should admit. If we made it out of this mess I wanted to find out just what else gave her an attitude and that little tipped up half-smile.
The SUV pulled up two blocks from Viktor's building at 4:13 a.m. The staging area.
The point of no return.
We exited the vehicles, moved through shadows to the adjacent building's garage entrance. Cold November air bit through clothes. The smell of garbage and exhaust and rain on concrete.
Rocco's voice crackled in our earpieces: "Camera loop active in thirty seconds. Mark."
We counted down silently. At zero, we moved.
The garage was concrete and fluorescent lights—industrial, stark. The service corridor exactly where the blueprints showed. Locked door, but Giulio's picks made quick work of it.
Through to the maintenance corridor—pipes overhead, water stains on walls, the smell of mildew and old building. First checkpoint: another locked door. Electronic. Giulio bypassed it in forty seconds.
Good time.
Rocco's voice: "You have company. Two guards doing rounds on the second basement level. Thirty seconds until they reach your position."
I signaled: everyone against the walls. Silence. Waiting.
Footsteps echoed. Voices—casual conversation in Russian.
The guards passed without looking into the corridor. Kept moving.
Too close.
A third door—this one opened into Viktor's basement parking level. Private. Exclusive. Only a dozen spots, most empty.
Viktor's cars: a Bentley, a Mercedes, an Aston Martin. Obscene wealth on display.
And there—Bianca's rental car. A modest sedan, rental company sticker still on it.
"She's still here," Piero confirmed.
We moved to the private elevator—only access to Viktor's floors. Required keycard and biometric scan. Giulio pulled out equipment—a keycard cloner and a biometric bypass device.
This was the risky part. The hack took two minutes. And if someone called the elevator during that time...
Rocco in our ears: "No movement on Viktor's floors. You're clear."
Giulio worked. Ninety seconds. The device beeped—red light.
Failed.
He tried again. Sixty seconds. Another beep—green light.
Success.
The elevator doors opened. Empty. Waiting. We stepped inside. The doors closed.
Twenty stories up. To confront Viktor Kozlov and Bianca Lombardo and whatever hell awaited us.
The elevator rose, smooth and silent.I checked my weapon. Piero did the same. Giulio and his team readied positions.
Paola's face was pale but determined. Her hand found the panic button on her belt loop, confirming it was there. Rocco's voice crackled: "Wait. I'm seeing movement. Viktor's floor—someone just entered the main living area."
"How many?" I asked quietly.
"Three signatures. No, four. Fuck—boss, you've got company. Viktor's not alone up there."
The elevator continued rising. Floor fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
"Can you identify them?" Piero asked.
A pause. Then Rocco's voice, tight with concern: "One of them is moving wrong. Erratic. Could be injured or... boss, I think one of them might be Bianca. And she's not moving on her own. Someone's carrying her."
Paola and I exchanged looks. Carrying her?
Floor eighteen. Nineteen.
"They could be moving her out. Transporting her somewhere," Giulio said.
"Or she's hurt. Or dead," Piero added grimly.
Floor twenty. The elevator slowed.
"Weapons ready," I commanded. "We don't know what we're walking into."
The elevator doors began to open.
And on the other side: Viktor Kozlov, standing in his penthouse foyer, arms crossed, smiling like he'd expected us all along.
"Cesare. How wonderful of you to join us. Please, come in. We have so much to discuss."