THE LAST ORDER OF THE DON

Thirty Days

The rain started at midnight.

Sterling stood on the roof of the Caminetti headquarters, watching the storm roll in from the harbor. The wind was cold, sharp, carrying the smell of salt and oil and something older—something like rot. The city stretched below him, a maze of lights and shadows, of secrets and lies.

He'd been standing there for an hour. Thinking. Planning. Waiting.

The Don was dead. Xerxes had the ring. The family was fracturing. And somewhere in the darkness, the traitor was watching.

Sterling lit a cigarette. He didn't smoke. But tonight, he needed something to do with his hands.

The rooftop door opened. Vincenzo stepped out, his coat pulled tight against the wind.

"You're going to catch a cold," Vincenzo said.

"I'm going to catch a traitor."

Vincenzo walked to the edge of the roof. He stood beside Sterling, looking at the city.

"The lab results came back," he said.

"And?"

"The Don's medicine was poisoned. Slow-acting. Something called digoxin. Undetectable in small doses. Over time, it stops the heart."

Sterling's jaw tightened. "Who had access to his medicine?"

"Everyone. The nurses. The doctors. The kitchen staff. Even the council members—they all visited him."

"Who visited him most?"

Vincenzo hesitated. "You're not going to like this."

"Tell me."

"Olympia. She was there every day. Twice a day, sometimes. She brought him his meals. She gave him his medicine."

Sterling's blood ran cold. Olympia. The Don's protégé. The woman who should have been chosen.

"No," he said. "Not Olympia."

"She had access. She had motive. She wanted the throne."

"She wanted the throne, yes. But she loved the Don. She would never—"

"Everyone says that. Until they don't."

Sterling turned. He grabbed Vincenzo by the collar. "Olympia is not the traitor. Do you understand me?"

Vincenzo didn't flinch. "I understand you don't want her to be. But the evidence—"

"The evidence can be planted. The evidence can be faked. Someone is setting her up."

"Or someone is telling you the truth."

Sterling released him. He turned back to the city. The rain was falling harder now, streaking the lights, blurring the world.

"How many days?" he asked.

"What?"

"The Don. How long did he have?"

Vincenzo pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "The doctor's report. The poison was administered over three months. He would have died within thirty days of the first dose."

Sterling did the math. The Don had given him the order four days before he died. Which meant he'd known. He'd known he was dying. He'd known someone was killing him.

And he'd waited.

"Why?" Sterling whispered. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was protecting you."

"Or maybe he was testing me."

Vincenzo frowned. "Testing you for what?"

Sterling didn't answer. He thought about the Don's final words. I was the traitor. I betrayed everything. What if the Don had known who was killing him? What if he'd chosen to die?

"I need to talk to Olympia," Sterling said.

"Now?"

"Now."

---

Olympia lived in a small apartment above a bakery in Little Palermo. It was modest—nothing like the mansion she could have afforded. She'd always said she didn't need luxury. She needed proximity.

Sterling knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.

"I know you're in there, Olympia. Open up."

Silence. Then the sound of footsteps. The door opened.

Olympia stood in the doorway, wearing a black robe, her hair down. She looked tired. She looked angry.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About the Don. About the poison. About you."

Her eyes flickered. "What about me?"

"You were there every day. You gave him his medicine."

She stared at him. Then she stepped back. "Come in."

The apartment was small but clean. Books lined the walls. A single photograph sat on the mantel—Olympia with the Don, both of them younger, both of them smiling.

Sterling picked up the photograph. "You loved him."

"He was my father. Not by blood, but by choice. He raised me. He taught me everything."

"And you killed him."

Olympia's face went white. "What?"

"The poison. Digoxin. You gave him his medicine. You had access."

"I didn't—"

"You had motive. You wanted the throne."

"I wanted the throne, yes. But I didn't kill him." Her voice cracked. "I loved him. I would never—"

"Then who did?"

"I don't know!" She was crying now. Tears streaming down her face. "I don't know who killed him. But it wasn't me."

Sterling wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that Olympia—cold, ambitious Olympia—was innocent. But he couldn't afford to believe anyone.

"The Don told me he was the traitor," Sterling said. "He told me he betrayed everything. What did he mean?"

Olympia wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath. "I don't know. But I know he was hiding something. Something big."

"What?"

"He changed his will three months ago. Right before he got sick. He wouldn't tell me what was in it. He said it was for my protection."

Sterling frowned. "Protection from what?"

"From whoever killed him."

The room was silent. The rain tapped against the window. Sterling's mind was racing.

"The will," he said. "Yvonne has it."

"Yes."

"She read it at the meeting. She said the Don named his successor. But she didn't finish."

"Because Xerxes interrupted."

"Exactly." Sterling stood. "Which means we don't know what the Don actually wanted. We only know what Xerxes claims."

Olympia nodded slowly. "You think Xerxes is lying?"

"I think Xerxes is playing a game. And we need to play better."

He walked to the door. He stopped.

"One more thing," he said. "The ring. The Don's signet ring. Did you ever see it?"

Olympia frowned. "Not in the last few months. He stopped wearing it. I thought it was because his fingers were swelling."

"Who did he give it to?"

"I don't know. But I know he kept it in a safe in his office. A hidden safe. Only he knew the combination."

Sterling's heart stopped. "The safe. Where is it?"

"In the War Room. Behind the map."

Sterling turned. He ran.

---

The War Room was dark.

Sterling burst through the door, his heart pounding. He walked to the map on the wall—the map of Port Argento. He'd stared at it a hundred times. He'd never noticed the seam.

He traced his fingers along the edge. There. A hidden latch. He pressed it.

The map swung open. Behind it was a safe—small, metal, old. A combination lock.

Sterling tried the Don's birthday. Nothing. He tried the Don's wedding anniversary. Nothing. He tried the date the Don had taken him in.

The safe clicked open.

Inside was a single envelope. Sterling picked it up. His name was written on the front. Sterling.

He opened it. Inside was a letter—handwritten, the Don's shaky script.

Sterling,

If you're reading this, I'm dead. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person. I'm sorry I couldn't explain. But I need you to understand: everything I did, I did for the family.

The traitor isn't who you think. The traitor is me.

I made a deal with Xerxes Giordano. A deal to save the family. But the deal went wrong. He wanted more than I could give. He wanted everything.

I tried to stop him. I tried to protect you. But I was too weak. Too old. Too tired.

The ring. The wolf and the snake. I gave it to someone. Someone I trusted. Someone who can help you.

Find them. Find the ring. And find the truth.

I'm sorry, Sterling. I'm sorry for everything.

Your father,

Don Caminetti

Sterling stared at the letter. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding.

Your father.

The Don had signed it your father.

Sterling read it again. And again. And again.

Your father.

He wasn't the orphan. He wasn't the outsider. He was the Don's son.

He was the heir.

---

The door opened. Sterling spun around, the letter clutched in his hand.

Yvonne Colombo stood in the doorway. She was wearing a black coat, her face pale, her eyes wide.

"You found it," she said.

Sterling stared at her. "You knew."

"I suspected."

"You knew the Don was my father?"

Yvonne stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her. "I knew. I've always known."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because the Don asked me not to. He wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"From the truth." Yvonne walked to the desk. She sat down. "The Don wasn't just your father, Sterling. He was your mother's killer."

The room spun. Sterling grabbed the desk to steady himself. "What?"

"Your mother was a Giordano. A distant cousin. She fell in love with the Don. They had an affair. But when she got pregnant, she threatened to expose him. To destroy his marriage. His family. His reputation."

Yvonne paused.

"So he killed her."

Sterling felt sick. "No."

"He took you in out of guilt. He raised you out of shame. He loved you—but he also hated you. Because every time he looked at you, he saw her."

Sterling sank into a chair. His mind was reeling. His whole life—everything he'd believed—was a lie.

"The ring," he whispered. "The wolf and the snake."

"The wolf is the Don. The snake is your mother. The ring is a confession. A symbol of what he did."

"Who has it?"

"The Don gave it to someone. Someone he trusted to tell you the truth when the time came."

"Who?"

Yvonne looked at him. Her eyes were sad. "I don't know. But I know where to start looking."

"Where?"

"The Giordano family. Your mother's family. They have the answers you need."

Sterling stood. He walked to the door. He stopped.

"Thirty days," he said.

"What?"

"The Don had thirty days to live when he gave me the order. He knew he was dying. He knew someone was killing him."

"Yes."

"And he chose to die."

Yvonne nodded. "He chose to die so you could live."

Sterling turned. He looked at her. "Why?"

"Because he loved you. More than he loved himself. More than he loved the family."

Sterling didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know anything anymore.

He walked out of the War Room. He walked out of the headquarters. He walked into the rain.

The hunt continued.

But now, it was personal.