The warehouse in Palermo was nothing but a total wreck. Smoke still curled from the ruins, and the air carried a bitter tang of burnt metal. Damian stood among the wreckage, boots crunching over glass debris.
Matteo approached, holding a tablet. "We've identified some of the recruits. Most are locals—dockworkers, smugglers, small‑time runners. But a few came from outside Sicily. Someone's been moving them through the ports for months."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "La Serpe's network."
Luca joined them, his voice low. "We found blood near the loading bay. She's hurt, but she's not dead."
"She won't stay hidden for long," Damian said. "She's too proud for that."
He turned toward the sea, the wind tugging at his coat. "She'll try to rebuild what Salvatore started. We end it before she does."
By nightfall, they were back at the estate. The map of Sicily lay spread across the table, marked with red pins—ports, warehouses, safehouses.
Matteo traced a line between Palermo and Catania. "If she's moving recruits, she'll need transport. There's an old shipyard here. Abandoned for years, but the docks are still functional."
Luca frowned. "You think she's regrouping there?"
"She's not running," Damian said. "She's gathering what's left. And perhaps she doesn't know Salvatore is dead."
He looked up, his voice steady. "We move before dawn."
The shipyard was a skeleton of rust and silence. The sea lapped against the docks, black and endless. Damian's team moved through the shadows, weapons drawn.
They found them inside one of the hangars—dozens of recruits, huddled and armed, waiting for orders that would never come.
La Serpe stood at the far end, her leg bandaged, her expression cold. "You should've stayed in your palace, Moretti."
Damian stepped forward. "Salvatore is dead."
Her eyes widened in shock.
Before she could say anything, gunfire erupted. The hangar filled with chaos, shouts, flashes, the metallic scream of bullets ricocheting off steel.
Damian moved through it like a storm, precise and unrelenting.
La Serpe fired from behind a crate, her movements sharp despite the wound. Damian closed the distance, disarming her with a brutal strike. The knife clattered to the floor.
She spat blood, glaring up at him. "You think killing me will change what you are?"
"No," Damian said. "But it'll stop what you're trying to be."
He pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed through the hangar, silencing everything.
The recruits froze, their weapons lowering slowly. Matteo stepped forward, shouting, "It's over! Drop your guns!"
One by one, they obeyed.
By dawn, the shipyard was quiet again. The recruits were being loaded into trucks, bound for questioning.
Luca approached Damian, who stood by the water, staring at the horizon. "She's gone," Luca said. "For real this time."
Damian nodded. "Then it's finished."
Matteo joined them, his voice low. "What about the recruits?"
"Let them go," Damian said. "They were following orders they didn't understand. The Circle's gone. There's nothing left to fight for."
He looked back at the sea, the first light of morning breaking over the waves. "Today, we bury the serpent."
That night, the estate was quiet. The men rested, the weapons were locked away, and for the first time in months, the air felt still.
Damian stood on the balcony, the wind brushing against his face. Below, the olive trees swayed gently in the dark.
Alessia joined him, her voice soft. "It's over?"
He nodded. "It's over."
She looked out at the horizon, her eyes reflecting the faint glow of dawn. "Then maybe now we can live."
Damian didn't answer. He only reached for her hand, holding it loosely, as if afraid peace might slip away if he held too tight.
For the first time in months, the world was quiet.
The serpent was dead.