A breathing, thinking, trained problem who could gut a man before he knew he was in danger.
Getting to her wouldn’t be simple anymore.It wouldn’t be quiet or clean.But I hadn’t come this far to abandon the job.
Neve Trimboli had survived twice when she shouldn’t have.And as the plane began its descent into Tuscany, the truth settled in my chest like a weight that refused to move: if I wanted closure, if I wanted certainty, if I wanted to erase the last living Trimboli… then getting to her wouldn’t be a hunt.
It would be a war.
And I was more than ready for it.
The jet toucheddown with a soft jolt.
I unbuckled, rolled my shoulders once, and tried to shake the last of the night off me.
It didn’t work.
The second the cabin door cracked open, cold air hit my face.And behind that cold air… irritation.
Because standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his coat pockets, looking entirely too pleased with himself, was my cousin Gianni.
I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling hard.Marcello must’ve called ahead the second I left Genoa.Baby brother wanted a watchdog on me?Fine.But did it have to bethiswatchdog?
Gianni waved like he was welcoming a celebrity.“Don Cavalho returns,” he called up.“And here I thought you’d sneak back into the city without saying hi.”
“I wasn’t trying to sneak anything,” I muttered as I started down the stairs.“I was hoping for one minute of peace.Clearly that was too much to ask.”
He grinned.“Marcello told me you might be in a mood.”
“Marcello needs to mind his own business.”
“Sure.Right after you stop giving him reasons to worry.”
I glared at him, but he didn’t budge.
“I’m driving you home,” he said, already walking toward the car.
“No,” I snapped.“Go home to your wife.She’s pregnant.She needs you more than I do.”
He opened the passenger door and gestured to it.“Mikayla’s fine.She told me to make sure you don’t get shot, arrested, kidnapped, or stabbed.Her words, not mine.”
I stopped walking.“I don’t need a babysitter.”
He shrugged.“Tell that to the people who keep trying to kill you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.“Gianni?—”
“Atlas,” he mimicked, smirking, “get in the car.”
“I’m not?—”
“Get in the car before I call Marcello and tell him you’re being dramatic.”
I stared at him for a long moment, weighing how much energy it would take to deal with this versus how much I actually cared.
Too much.
I got in the car.
Gianni shut the door behind me like he’d won the first round.When he rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat, he was grinning like an idiot.