Vladimir Pov

We were five minutes from the final launch of the assault. The Ionian Sea beneath the belly of my surveillance jet was a sheet of indifferent black velvet. The coordinates for the San Vittore were locked, and the entire combined fleet, Russian frigates, Italian missile boats, and the air assets of both families, was holding position, a ring of steel tightening around Damon Salvatore's floating prison.

I watched the live tactical map, tracing the rapid, deliberate movement of the ...