Chapter 80: "Aftermath"
Leo deeply hated the idea.
Seated in the conference room beside Caio and surrounded by the highest-ranking Sartori capos, he listened to the discussion with a growing sense of dread.
The proposal being considered wasn’t merely reckless. It bordered on suicide.
Sending their Don walking alone into an abandoned meatpacking plant deep inside hostile Moretti territory was, for all practical purposes, the equivalent of House Sartori beginning the search for its next leader.
"We can’t do that, Boss," Leo urged. "At the very least, let us deploy a small team dressed as civilians. They can secure the perimeter first, infiltrate the facility, and make sure the place isn’t completely rigged before you arrive."
Caio considered the suggestion for all of two seconds before dismissing it entirely.
"They chose the location," he said flatly. "That means they know the area better than we do. They’ve had time to prepare. Flooding the neighborhood with unfamiliar faces isn’t a tactical advantage. It’s practically asking them to shoot her."
Leo exhaled heavily.
The logic was difficult to argue against, but it did nothing to ease the knot tightening in his stomach.
"But we can’t send you in alone either," he insisted. "A meatpacking warehouse is built with thick freezer walls and insulated storage sections. Once you’re inside, your signal dies. If a firefight starts, nobody outside will hear it."
For a brief moment, exhaustion flickered across Caio’s face.
’Of course I know that.’
’I don’t even know if they gave me the real address.’
’The moment I walk in there, I might already be dead.’
Then the image returned.
Aren. Bound to a chair. Unconscious.
Bruises blooming across her face from blows she couldn’t even defend herself against.
His jaw tightened.
’Then I’ll drag as many of those bastards into the grave with me as I can.’
The vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared. By the time he looked up again, the familiar mask had returned — cold, severe, impossible to read.
"Prepare a search team," he ordered. "If they kill me, you search Moretti District. If she’s not there, you search every goddamn hole in Borgata until you find her."
Leo instantly protested.
"But Boss—"
Caio raised a hand.
The objection died at once.
"Prepare the bulletproof vest," Caio went on, indifferent. "Full concealed loadout. Blades. Sidearm. Everything. And nobody leaves this estate except me. If they’ve planted observers outside our gates, I don’t want them seeing a mobilization."
A heavy silence settled across the room.
Around the table, uneasy glances passed between hardened men.
Some were already wondering if this would be the final time they ever saw their Don alive. Others looked moments away from physically blocking the doorway if it meant preventing him from leaving.
Caio ignored all of them.
The meeting was over. To him, at least.
He rose from his chair and headed for the door. Just as he was about to cross the threshold—
Ring. Ring.
His phone rang.
Irritation flashed through him instantly.
’Seriously?’
’Who the hell has the nerve to call me right now?’
Without breaking stride, he pulled the phone from his pocket. The moment his eyes landed on the glowing caller ID, however, everything stopped.
Ariana Lombardi.
His entire body froze mid-step.
For one disorienting second, the entire room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Leo noticed immediately and shot to his feet.
"What’s wrong, Boss?"
Caio didn’t answer. Without wasting so much as a heartbeat, he swiped the screen and accepted the call.
Before he could speak, a voice drifted through the line. It was warm, soft, impeccably polite, and laced with an unmistakable note of joy — as though thoroughly pleased that he had actually answered.
"Don Caio? Is that you?"
Silence swallowed the room.
Every single soul present recognized the voice instantly, even muffled through the tiny speaker.
Several men stopped breathing altogether. More than one capo stared openly at the phone as though it had begun performing miracles.
Meanwhile, Caio stood motionless, staring at the screen.
It took several painful seconds before he could force enough air into his lungs to answer.
"It’s... it’s me."
Even he could hear the instability in his own voice.
"You... how did you..."
On the other end of the line, miles away, Aren stood amidst absolute devastation.
Her gaze drifted slowly across the carnage surrounding her.
Broken furniture.
Blood.
Bodies.
Eventually, her eyes settled on Daria.
The maid was currently tied up to a support pillar with industrial rope. Several pairs of men’s socks had been stuffed aggressively into her mouth to prevent any further screaming, though Aren preferred not to think too deeply about where she’d acquired them.
Turning her attention back to the call, she spoke apologetically.
"Well, I made quite a mess. Then I found my phone from one of the kidnappers’ pocket. Could you send some of your people to help with the cleanup? It’s... rather messy here. Also, I have one hostage alive. Her condition is... stable."
For a moment, Caio simply stared.
Each syllable struck him like a physical blow.
’Aftermath?’
’Cleanup?’
’Hostage?’
His eyes flicked toward his watch. Exactly one hour had passed since he had spoken to the kidnapper.
One hour.
Somehow, within that single hour, she had completely reversed the situation.
’Is she even human?’
Then again, remembering what he’d witnessed in the restaurant, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. What followed the shock far heavier: a crushing wave of relief so overwhelming it nearly buckled his knees.
’Thank God.’
’She’s alive.’
’She’s safe.’
’She’s still here.’
Suppressing it all cost him considerable effort.
"Where are you?" he asked at last. "Are all immediate threats neutralized? Is anyone else with you?"
"Everything seems clear at the moment," Aren replied. "Though I can’t guarantee additional reinforcements won’t arrive later. Also, I’m not inside a meatpacking plant. They lied to you."
Caio’s expression darkened.
"I knew it."
"I’m currently inside what appears to be a water treatment facility," she continued. "I’ll send you my coordinates right now."
Ding.
The coordinates arrived.
Caio immediately turned and signaled silently toward Leo, forwarding the location through a message.
Leo glanced at the screen, understanding flashing across his face. Without hesitation, he signaled every capo present to mobilize their teams.
The room exploded into motion.
Orders were barked into the air.
Chairs scraped across the marble floor.
Every capo surged to his feet before storming from the room, shouting for soldiers to arm themselves. Caio followed a step behind, already returning his attention to Aren.
"Find somewhere secure and stay there. Gather every weapon and every round of ammunition you can find. Hold your position until I arrive."
"I’ll be fine," Aren replied confidently. "Though... may I ask for a small favor?"
Caio’s attention sharpened.
"What do you need? Tell me."
Aren’s voice brightened up a notch.
"Bread."
Caio nearly stumbled.
"...Bread?"
"Yes," she said earnestly. "Or cake, or a croissant, or even pasta. Honestly, anything edible. I haven’t eaten lunch yet, and there’s absolutely nothing to eat in this place."
Caio came to a full stop.
A wave of self-reproach hit him so suddenly that he pinched the bridge of his nose.
’Right.’
’She hasn’t eaten.’
’How careless of me.’
"I’ll bring you a full-course meal."
"Thank you." Aren sounded genuinely delighted.
After a brief pause, she added,
"And perhaps a lot of ammunition as well?"
A slow grin spread across Caio’s face.
For the first time since the nightmare had begun, he felt a spark of genuine amusement.
"You need not worry," he promised darkly. "I’m bringing my entire damn stock."
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
Moments later, the water treatment facility was surrounded by Sartori vehicles.
Soldiers burst through the front entrance, flooding the pump room in a disciplined wave, led by none other than Caio himself.
His strides were hurried.
Purposeful.
Yet the instant he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his track.
’No.’
Aren sat alone on the only intact bench in the room, half-covered in drying blood.
Fresh bruises marred her face—injuries that hadn’t been there during the video call. Around her lay a graveyard of bodies, blood pooling across the concrete floor.
Every soldier entering behind him instinctively froze at the carnage, but Caio scarcely registered any of it. The corpses, the blood, the shattered equipment — his vision erased them all until only one figure remained.
’Aren.’
His legs carried him toward her in long, hurried strides. His body was trembling so violently he barely felt himself walking.
Meanwhile, hearing the doors burst open, Aren simply looked up and smiled — a smile so gentle, so painfully out of place against the bruises decorating her face that it nearly stopped his heart.
She straightened at once, reaching toward him with the eagerness of a soldier delivering an urgent field report.
"Don Caio! I have very important intelligence! Remember the auntie we met the other day when we had ice cream? She was behind all of this, along with that blond man who said he was your cousin. I believe his name was Gael."
Caio heard every word.
Every single one.
Yet none of it truly reached him.
There was no surprise. No anger. No satisfaction at finally identifying the mastermind behind a year of assassination attempts.
Instead, he closed the remaining distance, lifted both hands, and gently cupped her face, stopping her mid-report.
Aren blinked up at him.
"Don Caio?"
He didn’t answer.
His fingertips moved with painstaking care as he tilted her head first one way, then the other, inspecting every bruise.
The silence in the ruined facility seemed to grow heavier with every passing second.
One side of her jaw was badly swollen, mottled with deep violet bruises. Higher up, near her temple, a narrow laceration had already begun to dry, unmistakable evidence of a blow delivered by something far harder than a bare hand.
His eyes narrowed.
Then narrowed further.
When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet it chilled everyone close enough to hear.
"Who did this?"
Aren unconsciously lifted a hand toward the swollen side of her face, mentally retracing the day’s events.
’Let’s see...’
’The rifle butt... the slaps...’
’Ah.’
"That one," she said brightly, "I believe... was Daria."
Without another word, Caio’s gaze drifted away from her injuries until it settled upon the bound figure tied to a concrete support pillar across the room.
Daria was still thrashing violently against the industrial ropes. Several pairs of socks remained stuffed into her mouth, reducing her furious screaming to little more than muffled cries.
Caio never looked away from her.
"Leo."
Leo appeared at his side almost instantly.
"Yes, Boss?"
Caio inclined his head toward the maid.
"That one."
Nothing more needed to be said.
Leo understood immediately.
"Right away, Boss."
Several soldiers moved as one.
They cut the ropes binding Daria only to replace them with iron grips around both arms before dragging her toward the exit.
She kicked, writhed, and screamed into the gag, her muffled cries echoing uselessly through the room.
Leo followed without another word.
Aren watched the scene unfold with open curiosity. Once Daria disappeared through the doorway, she turned back toward Caio.
"But wouldn’t it be better to keep her alive for questioning? You could investigate how she murdered the poisoner. It seems like useful information for improving future security."
Caio didn’t seem remotely interested in the professional merits of her suggestion. Retrieving an ice pack from a nearby medic, he pressed it gently against her bruised cheek.
"I never said anything about killing her," he replied evenly. "Besides..." A dangerous smile ghosted across his lips. "She only needs her mouth to talk."
Understanding dawned almost instantly.
"Oh."
The tiny sound that escaped Aren resembled the startled squeak of a kitten
"You’re scary."
A flicker of amusement finally reached Caio’s eyes.
"Look who’s talking."
His voice softened.
"Stop worrying about some assassin maid. You haven’t eaten."
