CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
The sound of her voice, completely unraveled and thick with love, broke the last of his formidable control.
Sandro let out a deep, guttural groan, driving into her one final time as he poured himself into her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
He collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his chest heaving against hers.
They lay tangled together for a long time, the fire crackling in the background, surrounded by the untouchable peace of their devotion. Sandro held her tightly, pressing a soft kiss to her damp skin, determined that no shadow would ever touch her again.
***
By the time, the Moretti private jet touched down on the tarmac in Milan the following afternoon, the peace of Geneva had been replaced by the ruthless, tactical machinery of a syndicate preparing for war.
The armored convoy sped through the Italian countryside, arriving at the towering iron gates of the Palazzo Moretti.
As they stepped into the grand foyer, Sandro turned to Zina.
The summit had been exhausting, both emotionally and physically, and the faint shadows beneath her dark eyes were visible.
Sandro kissed her gently, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Go upstairs and rest," he instructed softly. "I have logistics to handle with Matteo and Bernardo. I will join you as soon as I am finished."
Zina nodded, too drained to argue, and made her way toward the east wing.
Sandro watched her go until she was safely out of sight. The moment she disappeared, the warmth evaporated from his face, leaving only the cold, unyielding Don. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward his private study, pushing open the doors.
Matteo and Bernardo were already inside, waiting by the desk. The air in the room was dense with tactical anticipation.
"Welcome home, Boss," Matteo said, handing Sandro a secured tablet as they walked briskly toward the tactical war room. "The intelligence from Geneva is confirmed. Vanzetti panicked immediately after the introduction. He ran straight to Taras Bondarenko’s suite."
"And?" Sandro demanded, pulling off his overcoat and tossing it.
"The Bratva cut him loose," Bernardo answered, falling into step beside Zina.
"Our intercepts caught the chatter. Bondarenko told Vanzetti that he failed to eliminate the entire bloodline, rendering their contract void.
The Odessa Combine is officially washing its hands of the Italians.
They do not want a war with you, Sandro. "
"A pragmatic decision," Sandro noted coldly. He walked directly to his desk, planting his hands on the polished wood.
"If the Bratva severed ties, Vanzetti is completely isolated," Matteo deduced, pacing the length of the Persian rug. "He has no port access, no money, and no Russian muscle."
"Which makes him a cornered animal," Sandro stated, his jaw tightening. "But Vanzetti isn't the only one we need to worry about."
"The Kazan Capos," Bernardo noted quietly. "If the Bratva abandoned Vanzetti, they almost certainly abandoned Kamran, Bogdan, Farid, and Radu as well. They are dead men walking."
"Desperate men do not just lay down and die, Bernardo," Matteo argued, his dark eyes sharp with tactical foresight. "They cannot run back to the Middle East, and they know our enforcers are hunting them here. They are going to look for a way out. They are going to look for leverage."
"They have no leverage against my infrastructure," Sandro said slowly, his voice dropping into a lethal, vibrating register. "And they know they cannot touch Zina. They know I would execute them on sight."
"Which leaves the only vulnerable link in the chain," Bernardo breathed, the color draining slightly from his face.
"Reza," Matteo concluded, his voice laced with dread. "The boy is a child. He is the last male heir. If Vanzetti or the Capos want to force a negotiation to save their own lives, Reza is the ultimate bargaining chip."
Sandro’s fists clenched at his sides, a terrifying, murderous aura erupting from him. His green-grey eyes locked onto Matteo. A cold realization began to form in the quiet space between them.
"Triple the perimeter guard," Sandro commanded, the order ringing with uncompromising violence.
"Reza does not leave the residential wing.
I want Nico personally overseeing the boy's detail.
If those cowards take one single step toward my home, I want them drowned in their own blood on my driveway. "
Matteo nodded, immediately reaching for his radio. "Understood.
"Initiate an estate-wide lockdown," Sandro commanded, the order sharp and violent in the quiet room. "Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out. Bring the snipers up to the roof and authorize lethal force for any unauthorized vehicle approaching the gates."
"It's already in motion, Boss," Matteo confirmed, his radio cackling.
He looked at Matteo and Bernardo, his eyes burning with a merciless fire. "Find them. Find Vanzetti, and find the capos. Rip this city apart brick by brick if you have to. But bring them to me. It is time to end this."