Chapter 33 - Stephano
The next day…
If I hadn’t already been set on exterminating the Venezuelan cartel, I would be now after the stunt they pulled on Oksana and Grigori yesterday. Not that I care if something happens to the Russian Pakhan.
But Oksana?
She’s my wife.
My life.
The reason I keep moving forward instead of drowning in the rage my father left behind. Nobody—nobody—puts her into their crosshairs without paying a price for it.
A steep one.
I wish I hadn’t promised Raffael he could have Aurelio.
Because right now? I want to rip the bastard’s heart out with my bare hands.
It took the act of a saint—a role I would have never suspected Oksana capable of—to talk Grigori into staying back.
She did it without pleading or theatrics.
Just cold math and a promise whispered in Russian that involved time, knives, and pieces of flesh carved slowly from both Valverde men.
Grigori accepted it the way he accepts most things: with a smile that means you owe me.
The jet hums beneath my feet as we cut south. The flight to Caracas is quiet but tense, vibrating with the kind of anticipation that feels like a fuse burning toward dynamite. No one speaks. No one needs to.
Raf sits across from me, arms folded, eyes locked on the dark beyond the window. He’s gone very still, the way a snake does when it’s decided where to strike and is just waiting for the moment its prey stops paying attention.
I’ve seen him like this before. Focused. Deadly. Planning who to kill first.
At the front of the plane are our soldiers. Raf assured us it would be better to keep a low profile, so there are only six of them with us.
Next to me, Oksana is the only unnaturally cheerful one.
She’s dabbing antiseptic ointment on the wound that reopened yesterday, making a passive-aggressive point, because we got into another fight about her needing to take better care of herself.
Humming under her breath, she closes the med kit she borrowed from the pilot.
Humming! Like she’s getting ready for a fucking brunch date.
"You’re enjoying this," I mutter.
She looks up, eyes bright with mischief. "We’re going on a mission."
"Most people dread missions," I point out.
"Most people are boring."
Raf snorts without looking away from the window. "She’s right."
"Of course she is," I reply. "She’s Oksana."
Oksana beams like I just proposed.
Raf glances over. "She’s excited."
"She’s insane," I mutter.
Raf shrugs. "Then she fits right in. Besides, who is more insane, the one you accuse of being insane or you for marrying her?"
"Touché," I grumble.
She throws a gauze packet at both of us. "Stop talking about me like I’m not here."
The phone rings, stopping the banter. We’ve been waiting for this call. Oksana perks up next to us as I answer, "Grigori."
Grigori’s voice comes through, clipped, all business. "You’re patched through."
Then another voice joins the line. Nico, calling to give us valuable intel on how to get into Valverde’s compound.
"Steph," he says, no hesitation, no softness. The man on the other end doesn’t sound like someone asking permission. He sounds like someone who’s already done the math.
"You’re going in blind if you hit them straight. "
Raf’s head turns a fraction. Listening now.
"Silvestre’s compound runs on redundancy," Nico continues. "Outer perimeter is noise, guards meant to be seen. The real security starts underground. Service tunnels. Old smugglers’ routes. He inherited them and never shut them down because he uses them."
"You have sketches?" Oksana asks.
"Sending," Nico replies immediately. "You want the eastern access. Floodgate entrance. Looks sealed. It’s not. The power cycles every ninety seconds. You’ll have a twelve-second window where the cameras desync."
Raf exhales slowly. A smile ghosts his mouth.
"I like him already." He taps his screen, pulling up a schematic as Nico’s files come through.
"We hit them with an EMP first. Localized.
Short-burst. Take out cameras, comms, and internal locks.
It will disorient everyone inside without frying the servers. "
Grigori’s voice cuts in, sharp. "You sure you won’t cook the tunnels?"
"Positive," Raf replies calmly. "Shielded. Old construction. That’s why they still use them."
Nico hums his approval. "EMP gives you about forty seconds of confusion. After that, they’ll revert to analog protocols."
"Plenty," I say. "We don’t need comfort. We need chaos."
Oksana nods once. "EMP, then eastern access. We go underground, split at the spine."
Raf’s grin sharpens. "Silvestre left. Aurelio right."
"And no exit the way you came in," Nico reminds us. "They’ll collapse the tunnels once they realize what’s happening."
I glance at the dark window as Caracas begins to glow beneath us. "Then we don’t give them time to think."
The line goes quiet. The plan is set.
We fall silent again until we land in Caracas, where the heat, humidity, and chaos greet us the moment we get off my jet.
The air tastes like exhaust, sweat, sweet rotting fruit, and the metallic sting of a city built on corruption.
Traffic is a living organism here, wild, honking, alive with desperation.
We walk straight past the airport’s private transport lines to the taxi ranks.
A taxi.
A fucking taxi.
"Unbelievable," I mutter.
Raf doesn’t even blink. "You want to walk?"
I glare at him.
He shrugs. "Aurelio’s men watch private transport first. We might have been able to sneak under his radar with the jet, since it's reported as cargo only, but a limousine would pop up on his radar."
"That’s not a taxi," Oksana corrects. "That’s a tin can painted yellow."
"It’s efficient," Raf replies.
"It’s insulting," I complain, ducking inside the back seat. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
"No," Oksana chirps. "That’s the point."
I suffer in silence for the entire drive. The upholstery smells like old cigarettes, and something sticky under the seat touches my shoe, God only knows what.
Raf gives the driver an alias and a tip so large, I wonder if the man will sprint to retire when we pull up at the hotel, top-of-the-line for middle-class Americans who want to show off on social media. Bright lobby. Air conditioning blasting. Gold accents everywhere. Faux luxury. But safe enough.
We take the penthouse suite, because anything less would make my skin crawl.
The bellhop leaves. The door clicks shut.
The moment we’re alone, Oksana flops onto the sofa. "I love it. Perfect vantage points. Lines of sight everywhere. It's a shame the minibar is locked, but I can fix that."
Raf ignores her enthusiasm, stepping to the window and looking out at the city, sprawling in uneven angles. He’s silent, holding his jaw tight, his eyes are full of storms.
Something in me mirrors it.
Caracas looks beautiful from up here. Beautiful, the way a serpent is beautiful, smooth, glittering, coiled to strike. This is the city that tried to take my wife. This is the place that stole years from Nico. This is where Aurelio lives like a king. Soon, he'll learn that kingdoms fall.
My fury sits cold, coiled in my gut. I can taste it.
"We need intel," Raf mutters.
"We need blood," I correct him.
He glances at me. There’s no humor in his eyes. "We’ll get both."
His phone vibrates. After a silent curse, he holds it out to Oksana and me, a message from an unknown Venezuelan number:
Unknown:
Welcome to Caracas.
No threats.
Just a greeting.
"Aurelio knows we’re here," Raf says.
"Well, fuck." Oksana curses.
"Great, let's get a better hotel," I suggest.
They stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. "What? We might as well live it up in style while we're here."
I hope the bastard is feeling the ground shift beneath him.
Oksana stretches, cracking her neck, rolling her shoulders. "So. What’s first on the agenda? Surveillance? Recon? Or do we walk straight into Valverde’s estate and start murdering until someone talks?"
Raf and I both stare at her.
She frowns. "What? I’m hungry."
I swear to God, she is the most bloodthirsty person I've ever met, and I've met a few, present company—cough, Raf—included. And yet, here I am, horny as fuck for her and more in love than I ever thought possible. Raf was right. Who is the insane one in this marriage?
I step beside her, brush a strand of hair—well, wig—off her cheek. "You shouldn’t have gone without guards."
"It worked out fine," she retorts.
"You were shot at."
"And you sent Toni to rescue me. My hero." She beams up at me, and I swear I don't know if I want to spank or kiss her.
"That’s not the point."
She grins. "Maybe when we get home, you can lecture me some more. Naked. With weapons involved."
Raf coughs violently, pretending he didn’t hear that. "I’ll… go check the perimeter."
He’s gone before either of us can react.
Oksana laughs, smug and dangerous. "He’s fun."
I pull her closer. "He’s a necessary tool."
She loops her arms around my neck. "So are you."
"On second thought…" We look up as Raf returns, looking for once in his life, speechless.
It takes Oksana and me a moment to see what has him all twisted.
Guarded by Sasha, the last man I would have expected to see here walks in.
Massimo Manetti. The Don of the Italian Mafia, La Famiglia, in Las Vegas.
I met him briefly at some kind of family event years ago.
La Famiglia and the Vegas family are now loosely connected through Massimo's second in command, Enzo, who is Marcello's father-in-law. What in the hell is he doing here?
"What the fuck," he spits before the door even closes, "are you doing in this dump?"
Ah. Classic Vegas diplomacy. And perfectly mirroring my sentiments. He scans the room, Raf’s hand hovers near his holster, Oksana lounges on the sofa like she’s on vacation, and I'm standing dead center like I own the place.
His gaze lands on Oksana again.
"Who’s she?" he demands.