As we walked down the grand staircase, I saw the true scale of the raid.

Marcus’s guards were lined up against the wall, disarmed and zip-tied, their faces bruised.

The air smelled of smoke, copper, and rain from the shattered windows.

We exited the front doors into the cold, wet night.

A fleet of black SUVs sat idling in the driveway, their headlights cutting through the heavy mist.

Damiano walked beside me, his long strides effortless.

“Is it really over?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the roaring engines.

“For Marcus, it is,” Damiano said, looking down at me. “He will spend the rest of his life in a maximum-security cell.”

We reached the lead SUV, and an officer opened the heavy armored door for us.

I climbed into the warm leather interior, my body finally starting to shake from the adrenaline crash.

Damiano climbed in after me, sliding onto the bench seat and pulling the door shut.

The interior became instantly quiet, sealing out the sounds of the wind and the shouting guards.

The driver put the vehicle in gear, and we began to roll down the long, winding driveway.