Scarpa broke down. Like a wounded animal, he roared and lunged at me.
"Viviana! You snake! I'll kill you!"
Chris's men were faster.

They slammed him to the ground, pinning him as he thrashed and screamed. His eyes were bloodshot.
I looked down at him. Not an ounce of warmth in my eyes. "Take him away."
Those two words sealed his fate.
…
Five hours later, all 17 core Falcone assets were officially transferred to the Corleone famiglia under debt acquisition.
The celebration was held at the Corleone estate.

People surrounded me, offering praise and congratulations.
I felt strangely detached, so I made an excuse and stepped out onto the terrace.
Chris followed. He handed me a glass of whiskey.
"What's wrong? You've got your revenge. Are you still not satisfied?"

"I am," I said, swirling the liquid. "It just feels… unreal. For five years, I lived like a bullet. Now that the target is gone, where should this bullet land?"
Chris turned toward me. Neon light cut across his face.
"You were never the bullet, Viviana. You're the one holding the gun. You've spent your life loading ammo for other people's wars. Now it’s time to build your own arsenal."
He lit a cigar. The flame illuminated the scar along his jaw.
"I didn't invest in you just to take down Scarpa. I genuinely admire you. Your talent. Your resilience. Your ambition. I don't want to see someone who belongs at the top buried under the dust of hatred."
His voice was gentle like the night breeze.
For the first time, I really looked at him. He was powerful, calculated, and dangerous.
Yet, when I was at my lowest, he had reached out his hand.
He gave me the chance to take everything back.
He was like a mentor, an ally, and a kindred spirit.
My heart skipped. "Thank you, Chris."
He smiled and raised his glass.
"To new beginnings."
Our glasses clinked.
That was when I knew that my life had turned a page.