The emergency meeting was called for midnight.
All five family heads gathered in the war room, their faces grim as they surveyed the blood-stained evidence of the evening's battle. Serena sat beside Dante at the head of the table, her mother-in-law's ring catching the light, dried blood still under her fingernails.
She'd cleaned her face and changed clothes, but she'd deliberately left the blood on her hands.
Let them see what she was capable of.
"Thirty-seven dead Kozlov soldiers," Vincent reported. "Complete tactical victory."
"And our losses?" asked the Russian, Dmitri.
"Three men wounded. None dead."
The silence that followed was heavy with implication. A victory this complete wasn't just luck—it was planning, skill, and ruthless execution.
"How?" asked Maria Santos, the only o
