Page 206 of Fall Before Her Throne

Ipulled the hood down low over my face. I was dressed in black and freshly supplied with new knives, which I’d strapped to my thighs, and two new handguns at my hips. Giulio, Felix, and a small contingent of our men had snuck into Sandrini’s territory with me.

Sandrini lived in a penthouse high-rise—at least right now. He had an estate outside the city, but since Greco showed up, he’d been staying downtown. It only took me a few minutes to hack the building’s security feed and confirm he had arrived home about an hour before.

Giulio and Felix watched my back while we infiltrated the building. Sandrini owned the top floor, so I punched in his security code in the elevator and we rode it all the way up. When we reached the top, I pulled a small lock-picking kit from my back pocket. Ryuji and Wynn had been teaching me to pick locks when we had spare time. I could picture them both grinning from ear to ear while I jimmied the lock easily. I couldn’t wait to tell them how easy it was. The door popped open with a soft click.

I stuffed the kit back into my pocket, pulled out a knife and a gun, and entered the house.

“Stay here,” I whispered to Felix and Giulio while they watched the elevator. “I’ll shout if I need you.”

“Are you sure, boss?” Giulio asked. “I can watch your back.”

“I’m good,” I said, though I appreciated his loyalty. “I won’t be long.”

We had a few appointments to make tonight. The dominoes we toppled here kicked off everything. By morning, we’d either have won or lost. I let out a deep breath as I took my first steps inside.

Sandrini’s penthouse was luxurious, but it lacked any kind of personality. It wasn’t the sleek yet comfortable design of our old home, nor was it the old, audacious luxury of Tommaso or Lucchese estates. There was no designer touch, like Obi’s considered and thoughtful purchases. Instead, this interior could have been lifted from any lifeless design magazine. It was as bland as Sandrini himself. Sterile, cold, and yet still somehow weak.

Honestly, maybe it fit Sandrini fairly well.

The door to the bedroom creaked when I pushed it open. I paused, waiting for any indication that he had awoken, but Sandrini’s snores were as pronounced as ever. His wife slept next to him, unaware that her husband was about to die.

I stared at his sleeping body. How had men like him, Tommaso, or Lucchese become so fucking…lazy? Old, fat, entitled. Was this the best the Five Families could come up with?

I sighed as I grabbed a knife from one of my sheaths. I was on a timeline, so I simply stabbed him right in the chest. His eyes flew open with a shout. He gasped for breath and flailed around in the bed. The wife, probably in her mid-to-late forties, screeched when she saw the handle sticking out of his torso.

I nudged her and held a finger to my lips. “Shh.”

She immediately quieted.

I pulled my hood down while Sandrini clutched at his chest. “Hey, Giuseppe.”

His eyes locked on mine. He couldn’t quite catch his breath. Probably because of the giant hole in his lung. “You.”

“Me!” I chirped. “Just wanted you to know that I’m the one who killed you. When you get to hell, please say hi to Greco for me. We’ll send him down to meet you shortly.”

I yanked the knife out of his chest, and his lung quickly collapsed. Blood spurted from his lips. He writhed in the sheets for a few moments before he unfortunately rolled out of bed and landed with a thunk on the ground. I turned to his wife.

“Hey,” I said with a sigh. “Sorry you had to see that.”

She stared at me, completely frozen. Her eyes were full of terror while we listened to Sandrini’s last few curdling, wet breaths. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, that depends. Are you going to come after me and my men? You know who I am, don’t you?”

She nodded, swallowing. “You’re Leona Vero. We’ve met a few times before.”

“That’s right.” She’d been Sandrini’s arm candy at a few events that my father had thrown before. “So? Any plans for revenge?”

“No.” She leaned on her hands and knees to peek over the far edge of the bed. “Is he really dead?”

I nudged his corpse with my foot and found it unmoving. “Yep. I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

She sat back on her knees. After a few breaths, she looked up. “Me neither.”

The wife didn’t seem too broken up about this. “Wasn’t a great husband?”

“No,” she said, sniffling slightly. “Our marriage was arranged. I only cared for his money.”

“You’re free now,” I said while I wiped my knife on the bedspread. If I remembered correctly, they had kids in their teen years, but they weren’t in the penthouse. The rest of the rooms had been empty. “Unless you or your sons will come after me.”