Setting The Stage
The meeting room in the hotel’s penthouse suite was filled with the low hum of voices and the occasional clink of coffee mugs on glass. A flat screen was mounted on one wall, displaying digital maps, security schematics, and multiple live feeds Serena had tapped into.
Everyone was seated around the table.
Adriano sat at the head—hands clasped, elbows on the table, his intense gaze locked on the screen ahead. To his left sat Diamond. Alessandro was diagonally opposite her, occasionally glancing in her direction when he thought no one was watching. She held his gaze once briefly, then looked away.
The second time it happened, the glance lingered a little too long. Diamond’s eyes softened before she forced herself to look down at the paper cup in front of her.
Adriano caught it but didn’t react. But his jaw flexed slightly, a small shift in his demeanor as he noted the exchange.
He turned his head back to Serena. “Alright. Let’s walk through the plan again. Every second matters tonight.”
Serena nodded, fingers dancing across her keyboard. “Okay. So far, no anomalies. Our men embedded in Adrianna Jackson’s team have confirmed she’ll be arriving at the venue by 6:00 p.m. sharp. Her dressing room is set, security’s on high alert, and there’ll be three backup exits guarded—two of which we already have under control.”
The screen changed to a blueprint of the venue.
Gabriele leaned in. “And we’re sure those two exits are in position?”
“Yes,” Serena confirmed. “Our guys are planted there, masked as venue staff. The third exit—the south hallway—is a little trickier. We don’t have coverage there, but it’s rarely used unless there’s a full-blown evacuation.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Still, we should assign eyes to it just in case.”
“Already done,” Serena said, not missing a beat. “I’ll monitor it remotely and relay any changes.”
Adriano gave her a nod, then turned to Enzo. “Your guys?”
Enzo was dressed in one of his signature tailored suits, fingers absently spinning a silver pen in his hand. “Already moving. They’re part of her motorcade crew. Drivers, press handlers, bodyguards. They’ve been briefed and are in position. No hiccups.”
“Good,” Gabriele muttered. “That leaves the inside team.”
Serena looked at Adriano, Alessandro, and Diamond. “That’s you three. Tickets are confirmed, you’ll be seated in the VIP balcony—clear view of the stage and the side hallway that leads to her dressing room. Once the concert ends and she starts to exit backstage, you three will signal me. That’s when we move.”
“And what about the husband?” Marco asked from the back of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, always the blunt one. “How’re we pulling him in?”
Serena tapped her keyboard again. Aaron’s public Twitter profile appeared on-screen.
“This morning,” she said, “he posted this. '
@AaronJackson: Can’t wait to watch my beautiful wife burn up the stage tonight in London. Front row, center, always her biggest fan ❤️🎤🇬🇧
Marco scoffed. “Sickening.”
“But helpful,” Alessandro muttered.
Serena continued, “Our people already confirmed that he’ll be backstage with her after the show. Our motorcade units will intercept them once they exit the venue. The area behind the stage is unmonitored after 10 p.m. That gives us a five-minute window to snatch them both clean.”
“No noise,” Gabriele reminded. “We can’t afford a fucking scene. Especially with this many cameras and fans swarming the place.”
“Exactly,” Alessandro added. “We’re walking into a media circus. Anything goes wrong, we’re not just exposed—we’re dead.”
Enzo smirked. “Relax. Our people are professionals. Adrianna and her boy-toy won’t even know what hit them.”
Adriano leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His fingers drummed against the table.
He looked up, first at Diamond—who still hadn’t said much—then at Alessandro.
“Everyone ready?” he asked, his tone even.
Alessandro nodded. “Ready.”
Diamond hesitated, then nodded as well. “Yeah.”
Adriano’s stare lingered a moment longer before he turned back to the team. “Good.”
Serena glanced at the digital clock on the screen. “Concert kicks off at 7:30. That gives us four hours to finalize positioning and brief again on comms. Alessandro’s men are already staged. Ours will begin moving in an hour.”
Enzo stood and adjusted his cuffs. “Then let’s get into place.”
Gabriele rose next. “Let’s make this clean.”
As chairs scraped back, Adriano stood and clapped his hands together with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s take down these motherfuckers.”