The estate bustled with movement: Marcello men arming themselves, strategizing, talking s**t, waving proverbial fists at the enemy, posturing, preparing for war … All the things men did.
But still, they awaited my command.
I stood at the head of the table in the grand dining room, where a makeshift war council had gathered.
The room that had once been filled with warmth and family meals now felt cold, transformed into a battlefield before a single shot had been fired. And still, I couldn’t process this cold dichotomy, or the turn my life had taken to lead me here.
My mind buzzed with one thought—retaliation.
At least they’d let me bring Aldo home; he was unconscious down the hall, sequestered in our bedroom behind soundproof and bulletproof walls. Heavy sedation had rendered him ut
