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I shuddered.

“Cold?” Penelope jumped to her feet and grabbed a mug from the Lazy Susan in the middle of the table. “If you don’t like the taste, at least drink this to warm you up.”

She shoved that god-awful Folgers into my hands.

I was too tired to fight her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it!” She took her own mug and chugged the watery swill.

I wandered away.

On the steps, words whispered through the corridor above.

“Isabella…you’re mine.”

I tuned them out. It was bad enough those words haunted my sleep; now they tormented my daylight hours too. A figment of my imagination, because there was no way anyone was getting past Mancini’s guards. I swore my ears tickled with the sound.

***

The map spread across the filthy grey carpet with several suspicious stains. The lime green one was the most concerning. One was clearly ketchup, the yellow ones could be piss or soda, but the green? What spilt to make that putrid shade?

“Donna Isabella?” Michele pressed.

My head snapped up. “I don’t like this.”

“None of us do,” Franky agreed. “But it must be done.”

Hitting the drug caravan outside of the city was suicide. In the country, there were no cops to be feared. The state patrol would be bought and paid to be elsewhere. And a shootout was imminent.

We wouldn’t all make it out of there alive.

But Bonetti would take a terrible hit. His suppliers would want their cut, while his distributors wouldn’t be able to collect the funds. He would be hurting on all sides.

The captains, filled with a fervor that bordered on recklessness, rallied around the map on the floor like moths to a flame, eager and determined to press forward with the plan. They spoke in excited whispers, voices overlapping as they plotted our attack, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Perhaps they thought this was our chance at redemption—a decisive blow that could restore the Moretti Famiglia to its former glory. Yet as I crouched amongst them, my heart heavy with dread, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were dancing on the edge of a precipice with fate holding its breath.

How had it come to this point where I willingly orchestrated violence and chaos? My code had always been of honor and respect—principles that should guide our every action. But here I was, caught in a web of my own making, plotting an assault that would see blood spilled on cold earth. The thought twisted in my gut like a serpent, leaving behind a sickening pit of nausea.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized how far from those ideals we had strayed.

Would this strike truly serve justice or ignite an inferno we could never extinguish? These questions plagued me relentlessly, gnawing at the edges of my conscience until there was little left but doubt.

“Donna?” Franky urged, his voice breaking through the fog clouding my mind.

Time was ticking. We had three hours to make it to the spot and set up the ambush. Even now it might be too late.

I looked at the gross lime stain. “Do it.”

As the soldiers began the preparations, I hung back. In the calm before the storm, a surge of loneliness swept through me.

Where are you?

The ghostly present didn’t answer. I shouldn’t have run away from him. While he ought to have told me, I should have given him space to talk. I didn’t. That was my biggest regret. How many more nights would pass before he dared make his presence known? It had been too many already.

Maybe it was too late.

But he’s not gone.

My private troubles were quickly overshadowed when Franky told me they were ready. I was going into battle without the devil at my side.