By 2:00 AM, the Rienzi estate was transformed into a militarized fortress. Fifty heavily armed private contractors patrolled the grounds with thermal scopes, while three armored patrol boats locked down the lakefront.

In the subterranean holding cells beneath the main manor’s historic wine cellars, the surviving Italian operative hung by his wrists from the reinforced iron pipes.

His face was battered, his breathing ragged.

Dante stepped back into the shadows as the iron cell door groaned open.

Alessandro walked in. He had showered and changed into an immaculate, midnight-blue bespoke suit. He looked like an aristocrat attending an opera, save for the pair of black leather driving gloves he wore on his hands.

He pulled a wooden chair over, turned it backward, and sat down three feet from the captive.

"Your name is Silvio Rossi," Alessandro said in flawless, aristocratic Italian. "You served six years with the Tuscan Carabinieri before taking Matteo Bellini’s payroll. Your wife and two daughters live in a villa outside Lucca."

The operative’s swollen eyes snapped open in terror. "How... how do you know that?"

"Because unlike your master, I don't send boys to fight a war without doing my reading," Alessandro replied softly. "Where is Matteo?"

"Go to hell," Silvio spat, though his voice lacked conviction.

Alessandro didn't raise his voice. He didn't signal Dante to strike him. He simply reached into his pocket and laid a high-resolution photograph on the captive's lap.

It was a photograph of the villa in Lucca. Outside the front gate stood two men in tailored suits, holding unlit cigars, watching Silvio's children play on the grass.

"My family in Naples owes my father many debts, Silvio," Alessandro whispered. "They have been watching that house for forty-eight hours. If I do not send a green confirmation code from this phone by three in the morning, those two men walk through that gate."

Silvio began to weep, his chains clinking against the ceiling. "No... please! Blessed Mary, no! Not my girls!"

"Where is Matteo?"

"An abandoned rail warehouse in Calumet!" Silvio broke, sobbing openly. "Near the industrial slip! He has twelve men left! He's waiting for heavy weapons coming in on the dawn barge from Canada! He's planning to hit the Danbury prison transport on Friday when your federal marshals move Genevieve!"

Alessandro stood up. He picked up the photograph and tucked it back into his pocket.

"Dante," Alessandro said, walking toward the heavy door.

"Boss?"

"Call Naples. Tell them to buy the children ice cream and keep the perimeter secure. No one touches the family."

Silvio slumped against his chains, gasping in choked gratitude: "Thank you... Don Alessandro, thank you..."

Alessandro paused at the threshold, turning his cold gaze back to the prisoner.

"I am not a monster, Silvio. But your boss is. And by sunrise, there will be no Bellinis left on this continent."