16. Elena
Elena
The harsh morning sunlight casts fragmented shadows across the sprawling topographical map I unrolled across the kitchen table.
I trace the jagged coastline of Palermo with the tip of my silver pen, mapping the exact locations where Roberto Severato currently docks his private fleet.
The encrypted ledger sits open beside my elbow.
He thinks he can just waltz into my city and claim the throne while we are distracted by the ashes of my uncle’s estate, I muse, tapping the pen against the paper in a relentless, calculating rhythm. He underestimates the woman holding the matches.
Giancarlo stands near the cramped kitchenette, running a fresh batch of espresso through a dented metal machine that looks like it barely survived the last decade.
The massive enforcer looks remarkably unfazed by the fact that we slaughtered a dozen men just hours prior, his tattooed arms flexing as he pours the dark liquid into three chipped ceramic mugs.
"The streets are a chaotic mess this morning, Boss," Giancarlo states, sliding a mug across the table toward me.
The title rolls off his tongue without a shred of hesitation.
"The Carabinieri are busy trying to scrape your uncle and Salvatore off the Persian rug, and the surviving Capos are panicking.
The rumor mill claims the Russians turned on the Vitiello family.
No one suspects Boston is operating on the island. "
"Let them panic," I reply, bringing the bitter espresso to my lips, letting the caffeine scorch my throat. "Fear breeds compliance. Once the Capos realize they are bleeding money without a leader, they will be desperate for someone to step up and restore order."
The bathroom door creaks open, and Enzo steps into the small living space, a towel slung low on his waist, water dripping from the messy strands of his dark hair. The sight of those jagged white scars evoke blinding, vindictive rage that demands a blood sacrifice.
He walks over to the table, his icy blue eyes scanning the scattered documents before landing on my face. "You have been staring at that map for three hours, mia bella. Tell me you found a vulnerability in his perimeter."
"I found something much better than a vulnerability in a brick wall," I answer, pushing the ledger toward him.
"I found a vulnerability in his psychology.
Roberto operates from a fortified mountain estate on the northern ridge.
A frontal assault is statistical suicide.
He has elevated sniper positions, reinforced gates, and an imported mercenary army waiting for us to try and kick the front door down.
If we march up that hill, we will be walking into a meat grinder. "
Enzo braces his scarred hands on the edge of the table, leaning closer, his impressive chest hovering just inches from my face. "I am not afraid of a firefight, Elena. We have enough ordinance in the vans to level the hillside."
"We are not fighting a war of attrition," I counter.
"We are going to use his arrogance against him.
Roberto possesses an archaic, misogynistic ego.
He views women as fragile, diplomatic ornaments incapable of orchestrating true violence.
He knows my uncle is dead, and he knows the Vitiello syndicate is currently fractured.
So, instead of attacking his fortress, I am going to invite him to a parley. "
Giancarlo pauses mid-sip, his thick eyebrows shooting upward in surprise, while Enzo’s jaw instantly locks into a rigid line of barely contained fury.
"I am the undisputed Don of Sicily now," I continue, ignoring the murderous friction radiating from the Consigliere.
"I have the right to call a neutral sit-down.
I will send a message through the underground channels, requesting a meeting at Villa Rosa—a historically neutral estate in the valley.
I will play the role of the grieving, desperate niece.
I will tell him that I executed Salvatore because the Underboss betrayed my family by killing my uncle, and I will offer Roberto an alliance against Boston in exchange for his protection. "
"Absolutely fucking not," Enzo snarls, slamming his palm flat against the wooden table, the explosive sound making the ceramic mugs rattle.
"You are not offering yourself up as bait to that sadistic monster.
You are not walking into a room with the man who tortured me, pretending to beg for his help. "
I stand up from my chair, refusing to yield an inch of ground to his intimidating posture.
"I am not bait, Enzo, I am the trap," I fire back, closing the distance between us until my breasts brush against his bare chest. "Roberto will never pass up the opportunity to manipulate a young, seemingly vulnerable woman into handing over the Sicilian ports.
He will accept the invitation, and he will pull his best men off the mountain to escort him to Villa Rosa.
He will walk right into the ambush because his massive, rotting ego refuses to believe a woman could outsmart him. "
Enzo grabs my hips, his large fingers biting into my flesh, his eyes burning with a chaotic mixture of wrath and primal terror. "He is a rabid dog, Elena! If he suspects you are lying for a fraction of a second, he will put a bullet in your skull. I am not risking your life to settle my score."
I grab the sides of his face, forcing him to look directly into my eyes, ensuring he understands exactly who he is dealing with.
"You do not get to dictate the terms of this war, Consigliere.
You crowned me a queen, and queens do not hide behind their men while the battle rages outside.
We are equals in this syndicate. I am the only person on this island who can lure him out of that fortress without arousing suspicion.
You and Giancarlo can do whatever you want to the Villa, but you will wait in the shadows for me to deliver him to you. "
Enzo stares at me, his chest heaving, the protective instincts warring viciously against his tactical mind. He knows I am right. He recognizes the flawless logic of the strategy, understanding that my diplomatic facade is the ultimate Trojan horse.
"You are a menace," Enzo whispers, his voice dropping into a raspy, friction-laced growl that sends a shiver straight to my core.
"I am your menace," I correct him, a wicked smirk playing on my lips.
Giancarlo clears his throat loudly, gathering his weapons from the corner of the room.
"I am going to take a walk and coordinate the sniper teams. I suggest you two finalize the blueprints before you tear the kitchen apart.
" The enforcer slips out the front door, the deadbolt clicking into place, leaving us alone in the suffocating heat of the safehouse.
Enzo does not waste a single second. He grips the back of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly off the floor, and deposits me onto the scattered maps covering the kitchen table.
He steps between my spread legs, his hands tangling ruthlessly in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat before his mouth crashes down onto mine.
There is nothing polite or restrained about the way he claims me.
His tongue pushes aggressively past my teeth, tasting of dark roast. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, my fingernails scraping down the scarred expanse of his back, opening my mouth wider to grant him unrestricted access.
He sucks my tongue into his mouth, a wet, filthy sound filling the small room, his lips sliding against mine with a frantic, consuming friction.
I bite down on his lower lip, my teeth sinking into the plush flesh until I taste a tiny drop of copper, drawing a harsh, approving groan from the back of his throat.
"Tell me how you are going to trap him for me, mia bella," Enzo murmurs against my slick mouth, his calloused hands sliding under the hem of my shirt to cup my bare breasts, his thumbs rolling over my hardened peaks with a bruising pressure.
"I am going to smile at him," I gasp, tossing my head back as his mouth trails down the column of my neck, his tongue swirling over the purple bruises he left days ago.
"I am going to pour him a glass of wine, and I am going to let him think he is the smartest man in the room right up until you blow the fucking doors off the hinges. "
"Fuck yes," he growls, his teeth scraping over my collarbone, biting the sensitive skin hard enough to leave a fresh mark.
The violence of our plan acts as a blistering aphrodisiac, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and lust that makes my entire body flush with heat.
Enzo unfastens my jeans, his knuckles brushing against my soaking center as he strips the denim down my legs, tossing the garments carelessly onto the floor.
I reach for the towel wrapped around his waist, pulling the terrycloth away to free his thick, rigid erection.
He does not bother with the slow, teasing buildup we shared before.
We are warlords preparing for a slaughter, and our bodies demand a much rougher release.
He grips my hips, aligning us perfectly, and drives himself inside my wet, aching entrance with a singular thrust that steals the oxygen straight from my lungs.
A loud, shameless moan rips from my throat, echoing off the peeling plaster walls as my muscles clamp down around his impressive girth.
"You feel so fucking good," Enzo rasps, his chest plastered against mine, his icy eyes blazing with a starving fire. "You are my brilliant, wicked queen."
He starts to fuck me with a wet, filthy rhythm that makes the wooden table groan in protest beneath us. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, locking my ankles together to anchor him flush against my body, riding the chaotic wave of pleasure building in my lower belly.
I reach down, my fingers digging into his muscular glutes, pulling him deeper inside me with every violent thrust. "Harder, Enzo," I demand in a broken, breathy plea. "Do not hold back."
He grants my request with a ruthless enthusiasm, his thrusts turning into a brutal, claiming assault that sends stars exploding across my vision.
He leans down, capturing my mouth in another kiss, his tongue mimicking the relentless, driving motion of his hips.
I suck his tongue, my hands clutching his hair, matching his feral energy as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my gut.
"You belong to me," he murmurs filthy praises directly against my ear, his hot breath fanning across my damp skin.
"Every brilliant, treacherous thought in that beautiful head belongs to me.
I am going to slaughter that bastard, and then I am going to put a crown on your head that the entire world will respect. "
The dirty, encouraging words combined with the sweet fucking push me right over the precipice.
I shatter brilliantly around him, my body convulsing with force, sobbing his name as a blinding climax rips through my veins.
Enzo groans, a guttural, strained sound tearing from his chest as he chases my release, driving into me three more times before emptying his hot seed deep inside my pussy.
He collapses against me, the ragged sounds of our breathing filling the room as the blistering high slowly begins to recede.
Eventually, Enzo pulls back just enough to look at my face, his thumb swiping across my kiss-swollen lower lip. He studies me, the protective Consigliere merging flawlessly with the man who trusts my intellect implicitly.
"We are going to need a secure communication line," Enzo states, his pragmatic nature resurfacing as he traces the line of my jaw.
"If you are walking into Villa Rosa alone, I need an audio feed.
I need to hear every single word that bastard says to you, and I need to know the exact moment the perimeter guards shift their rotation. "
I nod, shifting my weight on the hard wooden table, my bare skin sticking slightly to the topographical maps beneath me.
"Giancarlo can acquire microscopic transmitters from the local black market.
I will wear the bug stitched into the collar of my dress.
You will hear everything, Enzo. You will know exactly when to strike. "
Enzo helps me sit up, his hands surprisingly gentle as he hands me my discarded clothing. We dress in the light of the kitchen.
We spend the remainder of the afternoon fine-tuning the tactical ambush.
We chart the exact sightlines for the Severato snipers, positioning them on the elevated ridges surrounding Villa Rosa to ensure Roberto’s men cannot retreat.
We map the structural blind spots in the courtyard, calculating the precise amount of C4 required to obliterate the main gates without compromising the structural integrity of the dining hall where the summit will take place.
I draft the formal invitation to the peace summit, using the archaic, overly respectful phrasing Roberto will expect from a niece seeking the protection of an elder patriarch.
I seal the message with the official Vitiello wax crest, ensuring the underground couriers recognize the authority behind the summons.
"The trap is set," I announce, dropping the sealed envelope onto the table beside his encrypted laptop. "He will receive it by midnight. We will hold the summit tomorrow evening."
Enzo stares at the wax seal, a terrifying, homicidal anticipation radiating from his imposing frame. He reaches out, pulling me flush against his side, his arm wrapping securely around my waist.