The next morning, Luciano sat across from Augusto Nero in a private club—one so secret only four men in Italy had keys to it.
They hadn't spoken in years.
Not since the war.
Not since Grace's father died.
> "You look tired, Luciano," Augusto said, sipping espresso.
"Wearing Grace's chaos like armor again?"
Luciano didn't smile.
> "You put a price on her head."
> "She murdered a Cardinal. In cold blood. In a church."
Luciano leaned forward, his voice low and venomous.
> "And you murdered her family. One by one. In silence."
There was a pause.
Then Augusto slid a folder across the table.
Inside:
Photos.
Maps.
A hit list.
> "You want her safe?" Augusto said. "Then bring her in. Alive. I'll spare her life. Exile her. Strip her identity. She walks free. You walk free."
Luciano stared at the folder.
Then at the man who once stood beside his father at war… and stabbed him afterward.
> "You don't want Grace alive," Luciano said.
"You want her tamed."
> "Don't we all?"
---
That night, Grace stood on a rooftop across from the club.
Sniper rifle.
Target in scope.
She didn't know who Luciano met that morning.
But she knew betrayal when she felt it in her chest.
Her finger hovered over the trigger.
> One shot. One warning. One lie unravelled.
She pulled back at the last second.
Watched Luciano walk out.
He looked up.
Straight at her.
And didn't flinch.
---