The interrogation room was silent but electric. Giorgio Giovanni sat across from Juliet, his hands cuffed, his tailored suit rumpled. For a man who had built his life on power, the sterile gray walls and flickering fluorescent lights were a humbling cage.
Juliet studied him through the two-way glass. Her arms were crossed, but tension coiled through her spine like a spring ready to snap.
Antonio stood beside her, arms folded as well. "You sure you want to do this alone?"
She didn't look at him. "I've waited too long to hear him say it."
Antonio gave her a look—half concern, half respect—then stepped aside.
Juliet entered the room.
Giorgio looked up, a slow smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Detective Moretti. You've grown into quite the lioness."
"Let's skip the compliments." She sat across from him, placing a file on the table. She didn't open it. "You're going down, Giovanni. Your men are turning. Your files are being decrypted as we speak. You'll be lucky to breathe fresh air again."
Giorgio leaned forward slightly, amused. "Is that what this is about? Justice? Or revenge?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why did you do it?"
He tilted his head. "You'll have to be more specific, my dear."
She opened the file then, flipping it to the page with her parents' photos. The black-and-white crime scene shots. Blood soaked into carpet. Bullet wounds. Her father's badge still clenched in his hand.
"You killed them."
Giorgio didn't flinch. "No. I ordered their silence. I didn't know your mother was home."
Juliet's breath hitched. The rage she'd buried for so long surged, hot and wild.
"They were officers," she said through clenched teeth. "They were good people."
"They were idealists," Giorgio countered. "And idealists don't live long in Milan."
She stood abruptly, pushing her chair back with a screech. "You'll rot in a cage."
As she turned to leave, Giorgio spoke again, quieter.
"There's more blood on your hands than you realize, Juliet. The De Lucas. Your partner. Even your own force. You think this city runs on justice? No. It runs on survival."
She didn't respond. Not to him.
But his words echoed long after she slammed the door behind her.
Back at Adonis's penthouse, the city skyline burned orange with the setting sun. He stood near the window, shirtless, sweat on his chest from training, hands wrapped in tape. The scars on his knuckles caught the light—reminders of battles won and lost.
Juliet entered, her face pale.
"He admitted it," she said. "He ordered it."
Adonis turned, chest rising slowly. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head, eyes glassy but refusing to spill. "I thought I'd feel better. But I don't."
He moved toward her cautiously, not sure if she wanted space or an anchor.
"You will," he said. "In time."
She looked up at him. "He said your father knew. About the hit."
Adonis froze.
Juliet watched the storm build behind his eyes, slow and lethal.
"I need to talk to him," Adonis said. "Alone."
Juliet hesitated. "You really think he'll tell you the truth?"
"No." He grabbed his black shirt from the chair, slipping it on with precision. "But he'll know what I'm willing to do to get it."
The De Luca estate was as cold and immaculate as Adonis remembered. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and portraits of men who looked powerful but hollow. He strode through the hallways like a shadow returning home, his footsteps echoing behind him like a countdown.
Don De Luca sat in his study, staring into a glass of scotch. He didn't look up when Adonis entered.
"You've come to kill me?" the Don said, swirling the drink.
"If I wanted you dead, you'd be bleeding already."
The Don sighed. "Then what?"
Adonis didn't sit. "You knew about the hit on the Morettis."
The Don finally looked at him. His eyes were sunken but sharp. "That life... wasn't mine to control."
"You let it happen."
"I had no choice. You think it was easy? Giorgio had leverage. I signed your death warrant too, don't forget. But prison was cleaner than a grave."
Adonis stepped closer. "You chose the mafia over your family."
"I chose survival. You think I wanted your mother to die knowing her son hated me?"
Adonis flinched.
The Don drained his glass. "You hate me. I don't blame you. But if you want to take down Giovanni's legacy, you need what I know."
Adonis clenched his jaw. "Then talk."
That night, Adonis returned to Juliet with more than rage in his blood—he had names, routes, money trails. A web of power that stretched beyond Milan, beyond Italy. It was bigger than revenge now.
"We have enough to dismantle every piece of Giovanni's empire," he said. "But it won't be easy."
Juliet stared at the photos and files he dropped onto the table. Maps, surveillance, names of crooked officers, politicians, even international ties. Her breath caught.
"They'll come after us," she said.
"They already are."
She looked at him. "Then we go to war."
For the first time, Adonis smiled.
And it wasn't the smirk of a man playing a game.
It was the grin of a man who had nothing left to lose—
Except her.
And he wasn't about to let that happen.