Caruso;
'Time.
Time is the one thing that catches you off guard, no matter how long you prepare for it.
But not yet.'
Fuck. She runs.
A blackout ensues, and I'm certain it's not isolated to this wing. Definitely no coincidence.
This shit is planned.
My fist curls, strangling the thin red mask the viper wore.
Something is off. I'll get to the bottom of it.
The mansion erupts into uproar. Shrill screams ripple through the halls, sending a dark thrill through my veins—a signal I can't ignore.
And something tells me she has everything to do with it.
The barrel spins lazily in my hand as I step out of my room, coasting a glance around.
I don't trust her alibi.
Not even a little.
Every word that left those overly red lips landed wrong. A note too high. A breath too controlled.
Almost convincing. Too perfect.
But at the last minute, she gives herself away.
Galo is a wanky bastard. He hoards his daughters like livestock, sells them off to high-ranking mobsters for parcels of land and human flesh.
None of his daughters are trained in combat—least of all the last one.
And the way she evades my gun?
My fingers flex as I step into the hallway.
The muffled clink of heels against the rug echoes ahead, threading through the party-turned-bloodbath below as she runs.
Trying to escape me.
But, darling—you only crawl deeper into the web.
The mansion is cloaked in darkness. I tighten my grip on the gun.
Gunfire erupts from multiple directions. Screams—mostly female—splinter the air.
From the angles, my men are holding their ground. Counterfire snaps back with precision.
This is our territory.
The intruders are outnumbered.
Yet something is wrong.
No one is hit. Not a single body drops.
It's obvious—they're not here to kill.
"Get to the control room," I bark.
"Yes, sir!"
Orders ricochet down the halls. I recognize the voice—my second-in-command.
My priority should be the Cosa Nostra. Everyone involved.
Most especially, the Don.
I sharpen my focus, zoning in on my surroundings.
Footsteps thunder below as guests scramble for safety. Panic thickens the air, though it's painfully clear there's nothing they can do.
Michealo has it under control.
With that assurance, I move through the familiar veins of my home in steady strides—tracking the direction the little viper flees.
The sound of her stilettos fades. Growing distant. Nearly nonexistent.
I take the stairs two at a time, reaching the ground floor in seconds. My eyes narrow, straining for a shadow, a silhouette slipping through the chaos.
The crowd makes tracking her difficult.
But her lithe frame is unmistakable.
I take the obvious route.
The main door.
Moonlight bathes the courtyard—eerie and still—broken only by night crickets.
Hurried footsteps reach me. Heels striking gravel.
Still clutching the flimsy mask, I squeeze it tight, a grin pulling at my lips.
I break into a run, boots slapping hard against the ground.
Far ahead, headlights flash. Once. Twice.
My brows knit. "A signal."
She's already beyond the fortress when beams of light ignite behind me. At the same moment, my radio crackles—and the gunfire dies.
"Perimeter clear, boss. No visuals on the intruders."
A muscle jumps in my jaw.
That's because the intruder is right in front of me.
"Casualties?" I ask.
"None, boss. Minor property damage."
I don't respond.
I push harder, eyes locked on the feminine silhouette sprinting toward the waiting car.
I draw my gun, arm steady as I aim at her back.
"Stop right there," I command, my voice cutting through the night.
She ignores me. Keeps running like her life depends on it.
The wind whips her hair free as she moves.
"Get in, Poppy!" her accomplice shouts. Male. Close.
My finger tightens on the trigger—A second gun rises from behind the glare of the idling car, angled straight at me.
The blast shatters the night before I can fire.
But something insane happens.
I stand frozen, feet planted, breath knocked loose, as the little viper's lithe body cuts across my line of sight.
Her body jerks violently as the bullet buries itself in her.
The little viper takes the hit.
For me.
This has to be a scheme.
…Right?
I lift the radio, thumb pressing into the button.
"Run a check on Galo Montagna's daughters," I order. "Confirm if any of them were at the party tonight."