Page 218 of Fall Before Her Throne

That was the path I had chosen.

“It’s over, Greco.” I held my blade to his chest. “We’ve won.”

His mean snarl was a pathetic thing. I blocked his punch with barely any effort. He was likely still feeling the effects of our poison, but he’d also become weak, relying on others to do his dirty work for him. Most Dons were like that. He might be cunning and powerful, but with all that stripped away, he was just a man.

My knife slipped into his chest easily.

Blood bubbled from his lips. He coughed, staring down as I yanked the blade free. “You’ve killed me,” he rasped, “but you do not know what I did to that puttana. You think you’ve won, but will it be worth it when you leave this jail and she’s dead?”

My hand froze on the pommel of my knife. “What are you talking about?”

“I shot her,” he wheezed. His legs gave out, and he slid to the ground. “Right in the gut. She was bleeding out last I saw her.”

He was goading me. Tormenting me. Like the sick man he was.

“I don’t believe you,” I said as I put the blade’s edge against his throat. “A simple bullet could not kill our queen.”

I dragged the blade across his throat, and his blood spilled down his suit. His legs spasmed, his fingers clawed at his neck, but there was nothing he could do. I crouched by his side, watching as his life slipped away.

The great Piero Greco was dead.

I let out a heavy breath and closed my eyes. For the first time in years, I sent a prayer to heaven above.

Rest in peace, my parents.

71

LEONA

Iwas a lucky bitch.

Greco’s bullet had torn through the skin of my side, but it missed everything important. It still hurt like a motherfucker, and the pain meds were the only thing keeping me standing. Rossi and Chiara had forced me to rest for a few hours until the morning, but I wouldn’t stop now.

I had work to do. My men needed to get out of jail.

“You good?” Rossi asked.

He’d ended up having to get one of his personal doctors to take a look at me at a clinic in his territory. After I got bandaged up and supplied with sufficient meds, he’d taken me back to his massive loft in one of the brick buildings only a block or two away from Nonna’s. I got a few hours of sleep, though it was fitful with worry.

If all went according to plan, Obi should have killed Greco by now. Anxiety clutched at my chest, but I knew he’d come through. It was over—except for this one last step.

“I’m fine,” I said, inspecting my new clothes in the mirror. I was supposed to meet Badawi in thirty minutes, but I’d needed a quick shower first. Chiara had lent me a new outfit. She sat on the arm of his large leather couch, watching me with worry in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You should sleep for another day. The meeting can wait. Your guys will be fine.”

“Nope.” I gave my face one last look over. My scar was extra pink today, and my eyes were sunken from exhaustion, but we were so close to the finish line.

I couldn’t chicken out now.

“What’s next, then?” Rossi crossed his arms over his chest. “I honestly didn’t expect you’d make it this far.”

I snorted as I flipped him off, and Chiara smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

“Samuel is on his way to pick me up to take me to the meeting. Once my men are home, I can rest.” I jiggled the bottle of pills the doctor had left. “These are keeping me going.”

Chiara opened her mouth to argue, but my phone rang. I pressed it to my ear. “Samuel!”

“I’m waiting downstairs,” he said, voice tight. He sounded almost as exhausted as I felt. “Are you ready?”