Chapter 135: I told you so.
Carmen
I knew exactly when Nico left the estate.
He didn’t need to tell me twice where he was going. Still, Nico had looked me straight in the eye, nodded once like that was the end of the discussion, and walked out anyway—despite me telling him how bad the idea of meeting blade was.
And now, thirty minutes later, I was sitting upstairs in the living room with a stack of contract documents spread across my lap, trying to focus on words that refused to stay still in my head.
Don Gotti was still in hiding.
Vito had followed suit, though "followed suit" was too generous a phrase for a man who had basically been torn apart. An arm and a leg gone, permanently, no matter how much money or power he had left to throw at the problem. Even if he tried to replace them, there were some things the world didn’t give back.
And yet none of it felt like the end.
That was the problem. It never was.
The people coming for us weren’t finished. Not by a long shot. The King still wanted blood. And now the Gallias cartel had shown interest in our business too, which only made everything worse.
Too many hands reaching for the same knife.
I exhaled sharply and shoved the documents away from me, letting them fall onto the couch like they had offended me personally. My patience was gone. My focus was worse. I stood up before I could talk myself into sitting back down again.
A drink. That was the only reasonable solution my brain could offer.
Even if it was just wine.
I walked down the hallway and toward the main bar, my footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors.
I told myself I wasn’t worried.
That was a lie.
I poured myself a full glass of white wine the moment I reached the bar. The bottle was already open—someone had clearly had the same idea earlier. I didn’t bother with a small serving. I filled it almost to the top and took a long sip immediately, letting the cold bite of it settle into my chest.
It didn’t help as much as I wanted it to.
Nico didn’t seem worried.
That was the worst part.
Because I could see the bigger picture he kept brushing off. And that picture always ended the same way—more enemies, more retaliation, more people deciding we were either too useful to leave alive or too dangerous to exist at all.
Even if Nico managed to convince the Gallias cartel to back off, it wouldn’t stop anything. It would just shift the target. Someone else would step in. Someone always did.
The goal was never survival. It was staying ahead of the next strike.
I took another sip, slower this time, letting the wine sit on my tongue as I leaned against the bar.
Then I heard it. Gunfire.
Distant, Not subtle and very real.
It cracked through the estate like lightning splitting open the sky. I froze for half a second, glass still halfway to my lips, my body reacting before my mind fully caught up.
Then came another burst.
And another.
My grip tightened on the glass.
This wasn’t warning fire. This was an attack.
The main doors of the bar slammed open so hard they hit the wall behind them. The sound cut through everything.
Martins stood there, breath uneven, face tense in a way that told me immediately this was not something he intended to downplay.
"Ma’am," he said sharply, stepping inside.
I set the glass down so carefully it was almost absurd. "Don’t," I said, already moving toward him. "Just say it."
His jaw tightened.
"We’re under attack."
I didn’t even finish the breath I had started.
"We’re under attack?" I repeated, my voice lower now, controlled in the way it always got when things were spiraling. I moved closer to him instinctively, scanning his expression, his posture, anything that might tell me how bad this actually was. "How bad is it?"
My mind flicked immediately to my purse.
The gun wasn’t on me.
"They’re hitting the main gates," Martins said, already shifting his stance like he was ready to move at any second. "Numbers are heavy. It would be best if we leave through the back gate."
The words landed, but I was already hearing the rest of it underneath them.
This wasn’t a small group.
This wasn’t a test.
This was coordinated.
A distant explosion rolled through the estate like thunder breaking underground. The sound vibrated through the floors beneath my feet. Dust seemed to tremble somewhere far away.
I swallowed once.
Hard.
"Everyone?" I asked.
"I’ve called in all our men," Martins replied immediately. "More guards are on the way. We’ll be safe."
Safe.
That word didn’t belong in the same sentence as what I was hearing.
Still, I nodded once. Not because I believed him, but because hesitation got people killed faster than bullets did.
"Back gate," I repeated.
We moved.
Martins led the way out of the bar, already pulling his weapon into a visible position.
We stepped into the corridor and immediately I saw her.
Vanessa.
She came rushing out of one of the rooms, hair messy, panic already written all over her face before she even spoke. She stopped at the top of the stairs for half a second like she didn’t understand what she was seeing.
"What’s happening?" she screamed.
Her voice cracked halfway through.
"Are we under attack?"
Her hands were shaking so badly she had to grip the railing just to steady herself. Her dyed black hair showing blonde roots. She no longer bothered to redye it since we mostly ignored her.
Martins didn’t slow down.
He walked right past her.
"Move," he said sharply, not unkind but absolutely final.
I reached Vanessa and grabbed her arm, pulling her into motion with us. "Yes," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady enough to hold her together. "We are. Stay close to me."
Her eyes snapped to mine.
"Carmen—what do we do?"
"We leave," I said. "Now."
Another explosion boomed. This one closer.
Vanessa flinched so hard she nearly lost her footing.
"It’s nothing serious," I added, though even I could hear how thin the reassurance sounded. "The guards will push them back. We’ll be fine."
I didn’t believe that either.
But fear spreads faster than gunfire, and I needed her upright, not collapsing.
We moved down the stairs quickly now, Martins already scanning ahead, weapon raised. The sounds outside were getting louder.
Vanessa kept glancing back like she expected something to be behind us already.
"Who are they?" she asked suddenly, voice tight with panic. "Do we know who they are?"
I hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.
That was enough for her to notice.
And I hated that.
"I don’t know yet," I said honestly. Then, more firmly, "And it doesn’t matter right now. We get out first. Questions come after."
We reached the lower level.
The back of the mansion was already visible through the glass windows ahead—too exposed, too open, but it was the only option that made sense.
Martins pushed ahead. "Vehicles are ready," he said. "We take one and move."
Vanessa grabbed my arm tighter.
I could feel her shaking.
And for the first time since the first shot rang out, I allowed myself one clear thought:
Nico better still be alive when this is over. Nothing better than an "I told you so". Aware that if they chose to attack the estate then they had also attacked him.
