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V A L E N T I N A

The dim hum of fluorescent lights filled the concrete space, walls lined with digital monitors and paper-pinned maps. I stood in the middle of it all—my headquarters—an old industrial warehouse we'd converted into a control center. 

The air was sharp with coffee, printer ink.

My eyes were on the screens, lips tight, brain burning with one name. Eric Wheeler.

The man who thought he could escape me after what he did. The man who played a part in Martha's death.

"Donna," a voice called from behind me, slightly breathless.

I turned, my boots echoing faintly against the cement. One of my men, Carter, jogged toward me, eyes wide, holding a tablet.

"We got him," he said. "Wheeler. Our contact in Chicago spotted him near the wharf—he's staying in a guarded townhouse two blocks from the docks. There's surveillance, but it's sloppy."

Everything in me went still.

"You're sure?" I asked.

"Yes, Donna."

I nodded once. "Then we move."

With a sharp gesture, I motioned to the men nearby. "Arm up. No killing. I want him alive and breathing—understood?"

They nodded, a chorus of "Yes, Donna" filling the air.

"I don't care if you have to drag him by his throat through ten miles of dirt—he gets here alive."

I watched them file out, checking gear and barking out orders, then turned back toward the elevator at the far end of the space. I pressed the button, watching it flicker red before the metal doors slid open.

I didn't need to be there when they brought Eric in. They knew what to do.

_____

The drive home was quiet, my thoughts noisy.

Clouds hung low over the city.

When I pulled into the safehouse's long driveway, a familiar calm settled in my chest.

Our villa stood tall and old, walls wrapped in ivy, lights glowing through the windows. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

The scent of garlic, woodsmoke, and espresso wrapped around me like a hug. Laughter echoed from the sitting room, just down the hall.

I stepped out of my boots and walked toward it.

Sure enough, gathered on the leather sofas and armchairs were my brothers. 

Matteo was slouched over the back of one chair, eating from a bag of pistachios. 

Adriano was tossing a baseball in the air lazily.