The summons came at ten in the morning.
A car. A driver. No choice implied but absolutely required.
Rio dressed carefully. Professional. Calm. Like he was going to a business meeting instead of an interrogation that could end with his execution.
Corteo watched with haunted eyes. "What are you going to tell them?"
"The truth. Parts of it, anyway."
"That's not enough. They're going to push. They're going to dig." Corteo's voice shook. "If they find out who we really are—"
"They won't."
"You can't know that."
"I know I have to try." Rio checked his reflection. Same face. Same body. Same person walking toward disaster. "Where's Avilio?"
"Already left. Ganzo called him separately." Corteo moved closer. "Rio. If this goes bad. If they—" He couldn't finish.
"I'll handle it."
"How?"
Honest answer? Rio didn't know. The fragments offered tactical advice but no clear path. Partial truth mixed with calculated lies. Give them enough to satisfy without revealing everything.
It wouldn't work. Not with Don Vanetti. Not with Ganzo's interrogation skills. Not with Frate watching for any inconsistency.
But it was all Rio had.
"I'll figure it out," Rio said.
"And if you can't?"
Then everyone dies. The mission collapses. Angelo's revenge fails. Nero learns the truth. Everything burns.
"I will," Rio said instead.
The lie tasted bitter.
---
The mansion felt different. Heavier. Like the building itself knew what was coming.
Rio was escorted not to the don's office but to a room in the basement. Stone walls. Single light. A table with two chairs.
Interrogation room. Not office. The location alone sent a message.
Don Vanetti was already there. Ganzo beside him. Frate in the corner, watching with cold calculation.
No Nero. Deliberately excluded, probably.
"Sit," the don ordered.
Rio sat. Kept his posture relaxed. Hands visible. Non-threatening. The fragments supplied body language tactics automatically.
"You know why you're here," the don said.
"You have questions about my background."
"We have questions about many things. Your background is just the beginning." The don leaned forward. "Tigre claimed to have information about you. About inconsistencies. About mysteries that don't add up. He died before sharing details, but the questions remain."
"I've been honest about what I know."
"Have you?" Ganzo's voice was hard. "Let's review. You claim to have run a speakeasy in Chicago for three years. But your combat skills suggest military or professional training. You heal impossibly fast from serious injuries. You show tactical knowledge beyond civilian experience. And you appeared in Lawless right when war started, getting close to my son specifically."
The facts, laid out like that, sounded damning.
"I can't explain everything," Rio said carefully. "Some of it I don't understand myself."
"Try anyway." The don's voice was steel. "Start with Chicago. Who were you really working for?"
"Myself. I owned the speakeasy—"
"We checked. The financial records are clean. Almost too clean." Ganzo consulted papers. "Capital of fifteen thousand to open the business. You were twenty-four. Where did a twenty-four-year-old foster kid get fifteen thousand dollars?"
"A benefactor. I paid them back—"
"Who?"
"A man who died two years ago. Natural causes."
"Convenient. No way to verify." Ganzo's eyes were sharp. "What was his name?"
"Thomas Chen."
"And how did you meet this generous benefactor?"
The questions came fast. Probing. Testing consistency. Looking for cracks.
Rio answered carefully. Mixing truth with fabrication. The foster care story was real—his cover identity had those records. The speakeasy was real. The benefactor was manufactured but plausible.
But the combat skills? The healing? The instinctive knowledge of things he shouldn't know?
Those had no good answers.
"Let's talk about the shooting," the don said after thirty minutes of background interrogation. "You've taken multiple bullets. Shoulder wound healed in under a week. Tonight's vest impact should have cracked ribs. You're already moving normally. Explain."
"Good genetics?"
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." Rio met his eyes. "I don't know why I heal fast. I always have. Maybe it's just luck. Maybe it's—" He shrugged. "I don't understand it myself."
"Or you're lying. Covering something." Frate spoke for the first time. "Military experiments. Government programs. Enhanced soldiers. It's not impossible."
"I'm not a government agent."
"So you say. But you appear with convenient skills at a convenient time." Frate moved from the corner. "Tell me about Avilio Bruno. How long have you known him?"
"Two years. Maybe three. We worked together in Chicago occasionally."
"Doing what?"
"Problem solving. Collection work. Enforcement." All technically true based on their cover stories.
"And you trust him?"
"I work with him. Trust is different."
"Yet you came to Lawless together. On his invitation. Following his opportunity." Frate's voice was analytical. Cold. "That suggests more than casual association."
"It suggests compatible skills and mutual benefit."
"Or coordinated infiltration."
The accusation hung in the air.
"If I was infiltrating," Rio said calmly, "I did a terrible job. I've taken bullets for your family. Killed Orco soldiers. Proven myself repeatedly. What infiltrator does that?"
"One playing a long game. Building trust before betrayal." Frate leaned against the table. "I have a theory. Want to hear it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." Frate's smile was cold. "I think you and Avilio are plants. Possibly Orco. Possibly someone else. You appeared right when war started—suspiciously convenient timing. You got close to Nero specifically—target the heir, compromise succession. You have skills that don't match your background—professional training. And you heal impossibly fast—which suggests resources and preparation."
"That's an interesting theory."
"It's the only theory that makes sense."
"It's paranoid speculation." Rio kept his voice level. "I understand suspicion during wartime. I understand investigating new associates. But I've proven my loyalty repeatedly. At what point does proof matter more than suspicion?"
"When the proof is consistent," the don said. "And yours isn't. Your skills don't match your story. Your healing defies explanation. Your timing raises questions." He paused. "Most concerning—my son trusts you. Completely. That makes you either the most valuable asset we have, or the most dangerous liability."
Rio's chest tightened. Because the don knew. Maybe not everything. But enough to be dangerous.
"Nero's judgment is sound," Rio said carefully.
"Nero's judgment is compromised." Ganzo's voice was flat. "We're not blind. We see how he looks at you. How you look at him. That's not professional association. That's personal involvement. And personal involvement clouds judgment."
Silence.
Rio could deny it. Should deny it. But lying about something so obviously visible would only make things worse.
"My personal feelings don't affect my professional capability," Rio said instead.
"Don't they?" The don's voice was dangerous. "You've taken bullets for him specifically. Twice. You position yourself between him and danger constantly. You're not protecting the family. You're protecting him. That's emotional compromise."
"That's loyalty to the heir."
"That's weakness an enemy could exploit." The don leaned back. "Here's my dilemma, Ceriano. You're either the most loyal associate we've recruited in years, or you're the most dangerous threat we face. And I can't determine which. That ambiguity is unacceptable."
"What do you want from me?"
"The truth. Complete truth. Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you really doing here?" The don's eyes were steel. "And don't give me the Chicago story. That's surface. I want the depth. The real Rio Ceriano. Not the performance."
The request was impossible. Because the real Rio Ceriano was a reincarnating soul with fragmented memories and combat instincts from lives he couldn't remember. Was someone who'd come to Lawless to help destroy the Vanetti family. Was someone falling in love with the heir while planning his destruction.
The truth would get him killed instantly.
"I don't have a good answer," Rio said honestly. "I am who I appear to be. A man with skills he doesn't fully understand, trying to survive in a dangerous world. If that's not enough—" He met the don's eyes. "Then kill me. But you'll lose a valuable asset. And Nero will lose someone he cares about. That's your choice."
The don studied him for a long moment. Then stood.
"You're confined to the mansion. No leaving without escort. No private meetings. No contact with Avilio outside of supervised operations." The don's voice was absolute. "I'm not convinced you're a threat. But I'm not convinced you're safe. So you stay where I can watch you. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ganzo. Take him to the guest quarters. Post guards. Make sure he's comfortable but contained."
"And if he tries to leave?" Ganzo asked.
"Stop him. Whatever it takes."
---
The guest quarters were luxurious. Comfortable furniture. Good view. Locked door.
A prison with expensive decorations.
Rio sat on the bed. Stared at nothing. Processed what had just happened.
He was contained. Under constant surveillance. Separated from Avilio and Corteo. Cut off from any support or coordination.
The mission was compromised beyond repair. The don didn't trust him. Frate suspected him. Ganzo was watching.
Only Nero still believed in him. And that belief was probably what kept Rio alive.
The fragments whispered: This is the collapse. This is where it falls apart. Options: escape, confess, or maintain the lie until it kills you.
Rio didn't know which to choose.
A knock on the door. It opened. Nero entered, then closed it behind him. The guards didn't stop him—heir's privilege.
"Are you okay?" Nero's first words. Always concern first.
"I'm alive. Contained but alive."
"My father told me." Nero moved closer. "He's suspicious. Frate's been feeding him theories. Ganzo thinks you're a security risk."
"What do you think?"
"I think you're the person who saved my life. Who saved Vanno's life. Who's fought beside us." Nero sat on the bed. Close. "I think you're someone I trust completely."
The words were a knife. Because Nero's trust was exactly what Rio was betraying.
"You shouldn't trust me," Rio said quietly.
"Why not?"
"Because trust is dangerous. Because I have secrets I can't explain. Because—" Rio stopped. "Because caring about me might get you hurt."
"I'm already hurt. The war's doing that anyway." Nero's hand found Rio's. "But caring about you makes it bearable. Makes this feel like there's something worth surviving for beyond just the family business."
Rio wanted to pull away. Wanted to maintain distance. Wanted to protect Nero from the inevitable betrayal.
He didn't pull away.
"Your father thinks I'm compromising you," Rio said.
"You are. But not the way he thinks." Nero's voice was soft. "You compromise my ability to stay detached. To treat this as just business. You make me care. That's not weakness. That's—" He paused. "That's the only thing keeping me human in all this."
"Nero—"
"I love you." Nero said it clearly. Definitely. "I know the timing's terrible. I know it's complicated. I know we're in the middle of war and you're under investigation and everything's falling apart. But I love you. And I need you to know that. Whatever happens. Whatever my father decides. I love you."
The confession destroyed Rio.
Because he loved Nero too. Had fallen impossibly, catastrophically in love with the target. With the heir to the family he was supposed to destroy. With the man who trusted him completely while Rio lied with every breath.
"I love you too," Rio said. Because lies were useless now. Because truth was all he had left, even if he couldn't share all of it.
Nero kissed him. Desperate. Like the world was ending and this was their last moment.
It might be.
"I'll fix this," Nero said. "I'll convince my father you're loyal. That you're valuable. That you belong here."
"What if you can't?"
"Then I'll find a way to keep you safe anyway. You're not expendable to me, Rio. You're—" Nero's voice broke slightly. "You're everything."
The words were beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
Because Rio was planning to destroy everything Nero cared about. The family. The organization. The legacy. All of it was targeted for Angelo's revenge.
And Nero was declaring love to the weapon aimed at his heart.
"I should go," Nero said eventually. "Before the guards report how long I've been in here. But I'll come back. Tonight. After things quiet down."
"You shouldn't risk it."
"I'll risk whatever I want. You're worth it." Nero stood. Moved to the door. Stopped. "Don't give up, okay? Don't think this is the end. We'll figure it out."
He left.
Rio sat alone with the weight of everything.
The interrogation had contained him but not broken him. The don suspected but couldn't prove. Frate theorized but lacked evidence.
The mission was still operational. Barely.
But Rio's ability to maintain the lie was fracturing. Nero's love made betrayal impossible. The fragments screamed that he couldn't serve both masters—couldn't love Nero and destroy him simultaneously.
Eventually, he'd have to choose.
And Rio was terrified of which choice he'd make.
---
Hours passed. Afternoon became evening.
Rio stared out the window at Lawless. The city looked almost peaceful from this height. Like the war wasn't burning through it. Like people weren't dying in the streets below.
Illusion. All of it. Just like Rio's infiltration. Just like his relationship with Nero. Beautiful illusions hiding ugly truth.
A knock. Different pattern.
The door opened. Avilio slipped in. The guards must have been bribed or distracted.
"We need to talk," Avilio said. Closing the door. His expression was cold. Controlled. Angelo, not Avilio.
"They interrogated you too?"
"They did. I passed. Because I didn't compromise the mission by falling in love with the target." Avilio's voice was ice. "You're contained. Watched. Your usefulness is collapsing. And you're still thinking about him instead of the mission."
"I can still function—"
"Can you? Because from where I'm standing, you're a liability. The don suspects you. Frate's building a case. You're under house arrest. And Nero's love is the only thing keeping you alive." Avilio moved closer. "This is your chance to fix it."
"How?"
"Prove your loyalty. To the don. To the family. Do something that removes all doubt." Avilio's eyes were hard. "There's going to be a major operation soon. Coordinated hit on the Orco family's main operations. Everyone participates. Including you, probably, if you're not in a cell."
"And?"
"And you execute it perfectly. Show them you're committed. That personal feelings don't compromise professional capability." Avilio paused. "And after, when the moment comes—when we move to the final phase—you do what needs to be done. No hesitation. No emotion. Just the mission."
"You're talking about killing them."
"I'm talking about revenge. Justice. What we came here to do." Avilio's voice was absolute. "Choose, Rio. Right now. The mission or Nero. Angelo's revenge or your feelings. You can't have both."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you keep saying that. But your actions say different." Avilio turned to leave. Stopped at the door. "The Lagusa family was massacred seven years ago. Children orphaned. Lives destroyed. The Vanetti family did that. Ordered it. Executed it. And you're falling in love with the heir like none of it matters."
"It matters—"
"Then prove it. When the time comes. Prove it." Avilio left. Silent as smoke.
Rio sat in the luxury prison. Feeling the weight of impossible choices crushing him.
The fragments offered no guidance. Just memories of past failures. Past moments where caring too much destroyed everything.
This is the pattern, they whispered. This is what always happens. You infiltrate. You connect. You betray. You die. Over and over. Different lives. Same tragedy.
Maybe that was true. Maybe Rio was doomed to repeat this cycle eternally.
Or maybe, just maybe, he could break it.
Choose differently. Save someone instead of destroying them.
Even if it meant destroying himself instead.
The door opened again. Nero. Back as promised.
"Hey," Nero said softly.
"Hey."
They stood in the doorway. Looking at each other. Two people on opposite sides of a war neither fully understood, connected by something neither could control.
"What are you thinking?" Nero asked.
That I'm going to betray you. That I love you. That I'm going to destroy everything you care about. That I'd die to protect you. That I can't reconcile any of it.
"That this is complicated," Rio said.
"It is." Nero closed the door. Moved closer. "But maybe complicated is all we get. Maybe that has to be enough."
He kissed Rio. And for a few stolen hours, they pretended it was.
That love was enough.
That the lies didn't matter.
That somehow, impossibly, they could survive what was coming.
The fragments knew better.
But Rio let himself believe anyway.
Just for tonight.
Tomorrow would bring more war, more suspicion, more impossible choices.
Tonight, he just let himself feel.
Even knowing it would destroy everything.