(VALENTINO'S POV)
I didn't sleep.
I couldn't.
Because every time I close my eyes, I'm right back on that dock with those bodies.
Three days have crawled by. Seventy two hours of silence since Raffaele hijacked five million dollars worth of cocaine and butchered eighteen of my soldiers.
He probably thinks I'm licking my wounds somewhere in the dark. He thinks I Senza Padrone will crawl under a rock and pretend like none of it ever happened.
He has no idea.
The safehouse reeks of metal and gunpowder. Everyone's moving with purpose—strapping on bullet-proof vests, locking magazines into rifles, preparing for the bloodbath we're about to walk into.
No one speaks, but the tension hangs from the ceiling like fog.
Leo stands over a steel table, inspecting each weapon. Bruno's shirtless and drenched in sweat in a corner, slamming his fists into a punching bag.
They don't look eager.
They look ready.
