Chapter 23: Salvatore

Chapter 23: Salvatore
The door slams behind Gio and Elio as they rush off to start the silent mobilization.

I’m left alone in the dark room.

Breathing hard.

Trembling with rage.

Drowning in guilt.

I sit down heavily in the chair at the head of the table.

The seat of the Don.

The seat I swore I would never use to hurt her.

And now…

Now it’s the only weapon I have left.

I pull out my gun and lay it on the table in front of me.

Staring at it.

At the choices laid out before me.

There’s no political way out of this anymore.

No alliances.

No negotiations.

Not when they touched her.

Not when they dared to take what’s mine.

I think about the last time I saw her.
Sleeping tangled in my sheets.
Her mouth soft and swollen from my kisses.

I think about the little sound she made when I kissed her forehead.

The way she smiled in her sleep.

Safe.

Loved.

And I think about her now.

Locked away.

Used as a pawn.

Terrified.

And blaming me.

A low, broken noise escapes my throat.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to block out the images.

It doesn’t work.

It never fucking works.

I sit there for a long time.

Planning.

Plotting.

Hating myself.

When Elio comes back a few hours later, he moves quietly.

He knows better than to speak first.

He sets a burner phone down in front of me.

New number.

New network.

Clean.

Off-grid.

“First wave’s ready,” he says quietly. “Cash is moving. Cars are staged.”

I nod.

“Tomorrow night,” I say. “We start.”

Elio hesitates.

“You sure about this?”

I meet his eyes.

He flinches.

Because whatever he sees in me now —
it’s not the boy he grew up with.

It’s not the Don they followed.

It’s something else.

Something worse.

Something that will never stop until Eden is back where she belongs.

With me.

I stand.

Pick up the gun.

Tuck it into the back of my waistband.

“Get some sleep,” I tell Elio. “Tomorrow, we go to war.”

And when we do —
Sergio.
Angelo.
Anyone who helped them.

They’ll wish they stayed dead in the dirt where they belong.

I walk out into the night.

The air is cool.
Sharp.

It smells like rain.

It smells like blood.

It smells like the end of the world.

I look up at the stars — scattered like broken glass across the sky — and make a silent promise:

I’m coming for you, Angel.

No matter what it costs.

No matter how many bodies I have to leave behind.

You’re mine.

You’ve always been mine.

And I’m taking you home.