Adrian went to his study and cried for the first time since Isabella’s funeral.

He called Marco DeLuca.

“Find me someone to destroy,” Adrian said.

Marco’s voice stayed steady. “You already erased the Salazar crew after Isabella. Did it fix anything?”

No.

Violence hadn’t healed grief.

It had just sharpened it.

The next morning Adrian said instead, “Find her.”

Marco did.

Elena Cruz. Twenty-seven. Bronx apartment. Two jobs. Night classes.

Her father, Rafael Cruz, had been shot by a gang called the Red Vipers after refusing protection payments.

Adrian had wiped the Red Vipers out two years earlier during expansion.

She never knew.

Her brother Daniel sat in Sing Sing on fabricated charges.

Adrian listened without interrupting.

Then he said, “Take me to her.”

At a small Bronx café, Elena worked with quiet endurance. Adrian waited until her shift ended.

“I need to talk,” he said.

“You already did,” she replied coolly.

They sat in a nearby park beneath bare trees.

“My daughters went silent again,” he said.

“I know,” she answered. “Teresa called.”

He admitted he was jealous. He admitted he was wrong.

“I want you to come back.”

“No.”

He told her about Daniel.