Footsteps echoed again.
Not the heavy stamp of police boots. These were slower. Measured. Familiar.
I turned.
Dmitri walked back through the doors—uncuffed, coat open, posture relaxed in a way that set every nerve in my body on edge.
His face was calm. Too calm. Like the storm had never touched him.
I scrambled to my feet, words tumbling out in a rush. “Dmitri—what the hell is going on? Where is Vanya?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He leaned against the back of a pew instead, arms folding across his chest, surveying the emptied cathedral like a king returning to a reclaimed throne.
“I’ve regained Lake Como,” he said simply.
The words didn’t make sense. Not at first. “What do you mean?” I demanded, my voice echoing too loudly in the vast space.
“I knew open war with the three families was suicide,” he said, pushing off the pew and stepping closer. “Even if I won, there would be nothing left to rule. So I took another path.”
He stopped a few feet from me, close enough that I could see the faint shadows under his eyes—the cost of four sleepless weeks.
“I allied with the government,” he continued, unapologetic. “Bribed the right officials. High enough that no one beneath them could countermand the orders. Judges. Ministers. Prosecutors with ambitions bigger than their morals.”
My stomach twisted. “You... went to the authorities?”
“I bought them,” he corrected calmly. “Then I fed them everything. Financial records. Trafficking logs. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Proof that every family at that table took kickbacks from the Albanian operation for years.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one I thought I knew. “The Albanians—”
“Were convenient,” he said flatly. “A spark. The real crime was systemic corruption reaching into Rome itself. Once that door opened, it couldn’t be closed.”
My voice dropped to a whisper. “You turned them in.”
“Every last one.” He stepped closer still, until I could feel the warmth of him, the gravity. “They’re in federal custody now. No bail. No political favors. Too many eyes watching.”
A chill slid down my spine. “And after that?”
A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “I have men inside the prison system. Gangs already paid. Already positioned. Within twenty-four hours, they will be dead.”
I swallowed. “Dead how?”
“Quietly,” he said. “Officially suicides. Or fights that got out of hand. No martyrs. No trials. No chance for them to crawl back.”
“No one will mourn them,” he finished.
The weight of it pressed down on me—his precision, his patience, the sheer scope of what he’d done.
I swallowed hard. “And Vanya? Giovanni?” My voice trembled despite my best efforts at control.
“Giovanni was released on the road with Vanya,” Dmitri said. “He’s bringing Vanya home now.”
He studied me, noting the tight line of worry around my eyes, and softened just a fraction. “I tested Giovanni’s loyalty. He chose me. Over Elena. Over his own son’s safety. I promised him his wife and child would be spared. They’ll be returned unharmed.”
I sagged against the nearest pew, legs trembling like they might give out entirely.
My pulse pounded in my ears, the cathedral’s quiet emptiness magnifying every heartbeat. “So... it’s just us? Lake Como belongs to you now?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, deliberate. His gaze held mine, calm. “The council is gone. Every last trace of their influence erased. The treaty with the Albanians is null. Void. No one will challenge us.”