Rio spent three days under house arrest.
Three days of luxury confinement. Guards at the door. Escorts for bathroom breaks. Meals delivered. The illusion of hospitality masking the reality of imprisonment.
Nero visited when he could—stolen hours between war coordination and family obligations. They talked. They touched. They pretended the walls weren't closing in.
Avilio visited once more. Cold. Focused. Reminding Rio what was at stake.
Corteo didn't visit at all. Couldn't. The brewery was neutral ground, and coming to the mansion would raise questions about their connection.
On the fourth day, the summons came.
Not an interrogation this time. An operation briefing.
---
The strategy room was full. Don Vanetti at the head. Nero coordinating. Ganzo handling logistics. Twenty soldiers. Avilio present, looking coldly competent.
And Rio, escorted by guards who stayed at the door.
"We're hitting the Orco family's main operations simultaneously," the don began without preamble. "Three targets. The warehouse complex where they store supplies. The speakeasy where Don Orco conducts business. And their primary safehouse where key lieutenants live."
Maps spread across the table. Red markers for Vanetti forces. Blue for Orco targets.
"This is total commitment," Nero said. "We're not raiding. We're destroying. Every operation. Every resource. We're cutting the head off the snake and burning the body."
"When?" someone asked.
"Tomorrow night. Midnight. Coordinated strikes." Ganzo pointed at the maps. "Team one takes the warehouse. Team two hits the speakeasy. Team three assaults the safehouse. Everyone participates. No exceptions."
His eyes found Rio when he said it.
"Ceriano," the don said. "You'll be with team three. The safehouse assault. Nero's leading that team personally."
The assignment was clear. Put Rio in the most dangerous operation. Under Nero's direct supervision. See if he'd perform when it mattered most.
A test. Always another test.
"Understood," Rio said.
"Team three's objective is complete elimination. We're not taking prisoners. We're not leaving survivors." The don's voice was absolute. "This is extermination. The Orco family leadership dies tomorrow. Every lieutenant. Every advisor. Everyone who matters. Clear?"
Murmurs of agreement.
Rio felt the weight of it. This wasn't a raid. This was genocide. The complete destruction of an organization.
The fragments whispered: This is what war becomes. This is the cost of revenge. Not just the target. Everyone.
"One more thing," the don said, looking directly at Rio. "This operation proves loyalty. Everyone participates. Everyone contributes. And everyone who survives will be evaluated on their commitment." He paused. "This is your chance, Ceriano. Prove you belong. Or prove you don't."
The threat was clear. Perform perfectly or face consequences.
"I'll prove it," Rio said.
"See that you do."
---
After the briefing, Nero pulled Rio aside. Private moment before the chaos.
"Are you ready for this?" Nero asked quietly.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No. But I need to know you can handle it." Nero's eyes searched his face. "This is going to be brutal. Ugly. The kind of violence that haunts you. And my father's using it to test you specifically."
"I know."
"Can you do it? Kill in cold blood? Execute people who aren't fighting back?"
Honest answer? Rio had done it before. Across lifetimes. The fragments held memories of violence that went beyond combat. Of executions. Assassinations. The kind of killing that had no honor or justification beyond orders.
"I can do it," Rio said. And meant it. The fragments would guide him. His body would perform. His conscience would scream.
But he'd survive.
"I don't want you to have to." Nero's voice was strained. "I don't want you to become what this business makes people. Cold. Brutal. Dead inside."
"Too late for that."
"It's not. I see you, Rio. The real you. You're not dead inside. You're—" Nero stopped. "You're the only thing keeping me from becoming that. Don't lose yourself tomorrow. Please."
Rio wanted to promise. Wanted to say he'd stay himself. Stay the person Nero thought he was.
But that person was already a lie. And tomorrow would strip away another layer of pretense.
"I'll try," was all Rio could offer.
Nero kissed him. Desperate. Like he could feel the approaching darkness.
"After tomorrow," Nero said. "After we survive this. We're leaving. Both of us. Getting away from Lawless. From the family. From all of it."
"Nero—"
"I'm serious. I've been thinking about it. About what life could be if we weren't trapped in this." Nero's intensity was frightening. "We could go somewhere else. Somewhere the name Vanetti doesn't matter. Start over. Just—be normal people. Together."
The fantasy was beautiful and impossible in equal measure.
Because Rio couldn't leave. The mission wasn't complete. Angelo's revenge wasn't satisfied. And even if they ran, the truth would follow.
"Let's survive tomorrow first," Rio said. "Then we'll talk about it."
"That's not a yes."
"It's not a no either."
Nero accepted that. Because he had to. Because war was coming and survival came first and everything else was distant future that might never arrive.
"I should go," Nero said. "Final preparations. But Rio—" He paused. "I love you. Whatever happens tomorrow. Remember that I love you."
"I love you too."
The words felt like goodbye.
Maybe they were.
---
That night, back in his luxurious prison, Rio stared at the ceiling and tried to process what was coming.
Tomorrow, he'd participate in mass murder. Not combat. Not defense. Execution.
The Orco family leadership would die. Some might deserve it—soldiers who'd killed Vanetti people. But others? Lieutenants who just managed operations? Advisors who planned strategy but never held weapons?
They'd all die. Because war didn't care about innocence.
The fragments whispered: You've done worse. In past lives. This is just another iteration. Another mission. Detach and execute.
But Rio couldn't detach anymore. Every death would have Vanno's face, or Nero's, or Corteo's. Every execution would remind him that he was becoming exactly what the mission required—a weapon without conscience.
A knock on the door. Late. After midnight.
It opened. Not Nero this time.
Vanno.
He slipped in. Closed the door. Looked at Rio with complicated emotions.
"I bribed the guards," Vanno said. "We need to talk."
"About?"
"Tomorrow. The operation." Vanno sat on the chair. "I'm on team three too. With you and Nero. The safehouse assault."
"I know."
"Do you know what we're doing? Really doing?" Vanno's voice was strained. "We're killing everyone. Not just soldiers. Everyone. The don wants complete extermination."
"I know."
"And you're okay with that?"
Was he? The fragments said yes—violence was just violence, death was just death. But the person Rio was trying to stay said no—this was wrong, evil, the kind of thing that destroyed souls.
"I'm not okay with it," Rio said honestly. "But I don't have a choice."
"We always have choices."
"Do we? You think refusing would end well?"
"No. But—" Vanno ran his hands through his hair. Agitated. "I've killed people. In combat. Self-defense. But this? This is execution. Murder. And I'm supposed to just—" He stopped. "How do you do it? Stay calm when everything's falling apart?"
Because I've died enough times that nothing feels permanent. Because fragments remind me that everyone dies eventually. Because I'm already broken in ways you can't see.
"I don't know," Rio said instead. "I just—keep moving forward. One step. Then another. Until it's over."
"And if moving forward makes you a monster?"
"Then I'm a monster. But I'm alive."
Vanno looked at him. "Nero trusts you completely. You know that?"
"I know."
"He talks about you. When we're alone. Says you make this bearable. That you're—" Vanno paused. "He loves you. Like, actually loves you. I've never seen him like this with anyone."
The words were knives. Because Nero's love was real and Rio's betrayal was inevitable and Vanno was innocently delivering the message that would make everything worse.
"I know," Rio said quietly.
"Do you love him back?"
"Yes."
"Good." Vanno smiled slightly. "He deserves that. Deserves someone who actually cares. Not someone using him for position or money or connections." He stood. "I'm glad you're here, Rio. Glad Nero has you. Glad we all have you. Tomorrow's going to be hell. But at least we face it together."
The trust was absolute. Complete. The kind that made betrayal unforgivable.
"Vanno—"
"Yeah?"
I'm here to destroy you. Everything you believe in. Everyone you trust. The family you'd die for. I'm the weapon aimed at all of it. And I care about you anyway. And that makes it worse.
"Be careful tomorrow," Rio said instead.
"You too." Vanno moved to the door. "Get some sleep. We're going to need it."
He left.
Rio sat in the dark. Feeling the weight of everyone's trust crushing him.
Nero loved him. Vanno trusted him. Don Vanetti was giving him a chance to prove loyalty. The entire family was accepting him despite suspicions.
And Rio was going to destroy all of it.
Not tomorrow. But soon. When Angelo's revenge executed its final phase. When the truth came out. When the lies collapsed.
The fragments had no comfort. Just the certainty that tomorrow's violence was nothing compared to what was coming.
---
Morning came too fast.
The day passed in preparation. Weapons checks. Route planning. Final coordination.
Rio moved through it mechanically. The fragments guided every action. His body knew what to do even when his mind rebelled.
Evening arrived. Then night. Then the hours before midnight when everything would change.
The team assembled. Nero. Vanno. Rio. Avilio. Six other soldiers. Ten people to assault a safehouse where approximately fifteen Orco lieutenants lived.
Dangerous odds. But the Vanettis had surprise and determination.
"Remember," Nero said, addressing the team. "No survivors. No mercy. We go in hard and fast. Clear every room. Confirm every kill. Don't assume anyone's dead until you've verified."
The soldiers nodded. Professional. Ready.
Rio caught Avilio's eyes. Cold satisfaction there. This was it. The operation that would prove Rio's commitment. Or expose his weakness.
"Move out," Nero ordered.
They moved through Lawless streets. Dark. Quiet. The city sleeping while violence prepared to wake it.
The safehouse was in contested territory. Three-story building. Residential area. Civilians nearby who'd learn to ignore gunfire.
They approached from multiple angles. Surrounded it. Cut off escape routes.
Nero gave the signal.
The assault began.
---
Gunfire shattered the night.
The front door exploded inward. Flash grenades. Smoke. Chaos.
Rio's fragments took over. Combat mode engaged. He moved through the house like smoke and death. Professional. Efficient. Brutal.
First floor. Three Orco soldiers caught unprepared. Rio dropped them before they fully woke.
Second floor. Two lieutenants trying to arm themselves. Vanno took one. Rio took the other.
Third floor. The real resistance. Four soldiers positioned defensively. Actual fight.
The fragments guided every move. Duck. Fire. Roll. Reload. His body had done this countless times. Death was familiar territory.
One soldier down. Two. Three.
The fourth surrendered. Hands up. Weapon dropped. Terrified.
"Please," the man begged. "I'll tell you whatever you want. Just don't—"
Nero shot him.
Cold. Efficient. No hesitation.
The man fell. Stayed down.
Rio felt something crack inside him. Because that wasn't combat. That was execution. And Nero had done it without blinking.
War changed people. Rio had known that. But seeing it happen to someone he loved was different.
They cleared the rest of the house. Room by room. Methodically. The fragments kept Rio moving, kept him functioning, kept him from thinking too hard about what he was doing.
By the time they finished, fifteen people were dead. The Orco family's leadership structure was crippled.
And Rio's hands were covered in blood that wouldn't wash off no matter how hard he tried.
Outside, they regrouped. Counted. Everyone accounted for. Minimal injuries. Complete success.
"Good work," Nero said to the team. His voice was steady. Professional. But Rio saw the haunted look in his eyes. Saw what the violence had cost him.
They were the same now. Both executioners. Both monsters in nice clothes pretending to be men.
The other teams reported in. Warehouse destroyed. Speakeasy burned. The coordinated strike had succeeded completely.
The Orco family was broken. Don Orco was in hiding. Their operations were crippled.
The Vanetti family had won.
But the victory tasted like ash.
---
Back at the mansion, dawn breaking over Lawless, the family celebrated.
Drinks. Congratulations. Soldiers comparing stories. The euphoria of survival mixing with the brutality of what they'd done.
Rio stood apart. Watching. The fragments trying to process.
Vanno found him. "We did it. We actually did it." His enthusiasm was forced. Hollow. "The Orcos are finished."
"Yeah."
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"Liar." Vanno's voice was quiet. "I killed three people tonight. In cold blood. One was already wounded. Just lying there. And I—" He stopped. "I shot him anyway. Because orders. Because the mission. Because war."
"I know."
"Do you?" Vanno looked at him. "How do you live with it? The killing? The violence? How do you not—" He gestured helplessly. "Fall apart?"
Because I've died enough times that I'm already fallen apart. Because fragments hold the weight instead of me. Because I'm not fully human anymore.
"I don't know," Rio said. "You just keep going. Until you can't. Then you figure out what comes after."
"What does come after?"
"For us? I don't know."
Don Vanetti appeared. "Ceriano. My office. Now."
The celebration quieted. Everyone watching.
Rio followed.
This was it. The evaluation. The judgment on his performance.
In the don's office, Ganzo was waiting. Frate too. The triumvirate of judgment.
"You performed well tonight," the don said without preamble. "No hesitation. Professional execution. Exactly what we needed."
"Thank you, sir."
"But I'm still not convinced." The don leaned forward. "You showed you can kill. That's useful. But loyalty is more than violence. It's commitment. Trust. Belonging."
"What more do you need from me?"
"Time. Consistency. Proof that tonight wasn't performance but reality." The don studied him. "You're no longer under house arrest. You've earned that much. But you're still being watched. Still being evaluated. One operation doesn't erase suspicion."
"Understood."
"Good. Get out. Clean up. Rest." The don paused. "And Ceriano? Whatever's happening between you and my son—be careful. He's the heir. His judgment matters. Don't compromise it."
"I won't."
"See that you don't."
Dismissed.
Rio left. Exhausted. Blood-stained. Morally compromised beyond repair.
He'd proven his loyalty to the Vanetti family by murdering their enemies.
He'd secured his position in the organization by becoming exactly what they needed.
He'd succeeded.
And in succeeding, he'd lost whatever remained of the person he'd been trying to stay.
The fragments whispered: This is what mission completion requires. This is what revenge costs. Not just the target. Yourself.
Rio stumbled back to his quarters. Nero was waiting.
"Are you okay?" Nero asked.
"No."
"Neither am I." Nero pulled him close. "But we survived. We're alive. That has to count for something."
Did it? Rio wasn't sure anymore.
They held each other in the dawn light. Two people covered in blood and lies. Connected by something real built on false foundations.
"I meant what I said," Nero whispered. "About leaving. About starting over. We don't have to keep doing this. We could—"
"Not now," Rio said. "Please. Not now."
"Okay. Later."
Later.
When the mission completed. When Angelo's revenge executed. When the truth destroyed everything.
Later might never come.
But Rio let himself pretend it would.
Just for a few more stolen hours.
Before everything collapsed.