Page 172 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
The one my father whispered when he thought I was asleep.
I key it in.
The screens begin to flicker.
All around us, the walls of light break apart into static and then darkness.
One by one, each system collapses.
Not violently. Not like war.
But like sleep.
Like a power finally given permission to rest.
There are no alarms. No red lights.
Just silence and the smoke of a thousand possibilities curling away into nothing.
Dante steps up beside me.
He doesn’t speak until the last screen goes black.
"You did it."
"No," I answer, taking the hand he extends. "I ended it."
He squeezes my fingers gently. "Same thing."
We stand there for another minute, breathing in the cold and the quiet, before Marco appears at the stairwell and nods once.
"Clear."
We leave the chamber behind us.
No guards stay behind.
No one will return to this place.
Outside, the sun is starting to climb above the hill.
I can’t believe it’s been so many hours.
We’ve been through afternoon to nightfall.
The trees cast long shadows over the gravel, but the sky is clean.
Unclouded.
The convoy waits in the courtyard, engines humming.
I glance at the rear of the line, where the final truck holds the equipment we used to torch the lower floor—precaution, Marco called it.
An old habit of wiping the fingerprints off old plans.
At that very moment, Arditi and my brother are escorted out by four guards.
"Gianna," Rafa calls out.
