"My mom and dad ignored 9 urgent calls from my hospital bed since they were helping my sister unpack her new suburban home. So I called my estate lawyer to the hospital, changed everything on the spot, and when they finally arrived, they learned exactly what their cruelty had cost them.

Don Roberto did not run. He knew there was nowhere in the world to go.

He sat frozen in his chair, watching the blood soak into the antique carpet beneath Cassian’s twitching body, his face pale as parchment, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.

"Are you going to shoot me, nephew?" he whispered, his voice cracking with age and defeat.

"A bullet is too quick for a man who took six months to kill my wife," I replied, pulling a heavy silver linen napkin from the table and wiping the blade clean. "And besides... the street needs to see what happens to traitors. A quiet death creates legends. A public humiliation creates order."

I pulled my satellite phone from my pocket and dialed a single number.

"Marco," I said when the line connected.

"Boss. We have perimeter movement near the lake compound. Two scout cars just passed the outer sensor grid."

My chest tightened, the cold detachment vanishing beneath an instinctive surge of panic. "Did they engage?"

"No. They’re probing the tree line. They don't know the exact approach yet. But we have thirty minutes at best before they bring heavy armor."

"Hold the tree line," I ordered. "Do not let them reach the house. I am bringing Roberto."

I hung up, looked at my uncle, and grabbed him by the lapels of his thousand-dollar suit, hauling him out of his chair like a sack of laundry.

"On your feet, Uncle," I said. "You're going to meet your great-nephews before you die."

Twenty minutes later, my sedan tore through the northern outskirts of Chicago, speeding through the torrential downpour toward Kenosha. Roberto sat in the passenger seat, his hands zip-tied behind his back, a heavy piece of duct tape across his mouth. He stared through the windshield into the darkness, his eyes wide and hollow.

The rain beat against the glass in heavy, rhythmic sheets, echoing the thunder that rolled across Lake Michigan.

My mind wasn't on the war that was about to erupt across the five boroughs. It wasn't on the Commission, nor the territory that would need to be reorganized once Roberto's captains were purged.

My mind was on the quiet bedroom on the second floor of the safehouse.

I thought of Mateo's solemn, watchful eyes. I thought of Luca's quick, bright smile. I thought of Dante clutching his torn teddy bear, and Leo's fierce little scowl.

They were so small. So impossibly fragile in a world where men like Roberto traded human lives for port concessions and gambling revenues.

Sofia had carried that secret alone for months, bearing the agony of the poison, the terror of discovery, and the heartbreak of knowing she would never watch them grow up. She had done it all so that they might have a chance at a life outside the cage of my name.

*“Keep them safe from Alejandro.”*

The words haunted me like a tolling bell.

She hadn't feared that I would harm them physically. Sofia knew I would die before letting a finger touch them. What she feared was the contagion of my existence—the poison of the Moretti bloodline that turned every boy into a soldier and every soldier into a killer.

"You were wrong, Sofia," I whispered aloud to the empty air of the car, the windshield wipers slapping furiously against the glass. "They can't be sheep in a world full of wolves. I have to teach them how to hunt."

In the passenger seat, Roberto let out a muffled whimper, but I didn't spare him a second glance.

The headlights cut through the gloom as we approached the secluded turnoff for the lake house. Up ahead, through the dense pine trees, the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons were already lighting up the night sky like strobe lights.