Stefania dreamed, as she often did, of her grandfather. On the nights he came to her, he wasn’t the old man she’d known as a child. He was strong, fiery, and single minded. He never came without a reason, and he never left without making demands and barking orders. After a while, she’d come to rely on him.

That night’s dream started without him, in the old Medina estate’s ballroom, filled with faceless dancers. Stefania moved from partner to partner, swinging them around and laughing merrily. Some of her partners had swords and struck as she got near. She’d just dip and weave her way through as the manic music guided her steps.

It was a familiar dream, one born from dozens of balls and tense whispered conversations in shadowy nooks. The dance between families went on as long as anyone could remember, and Stefania was better at it than most. She had to be.

After Giovanni’s passing, their family split into three factions. Uncles Benicio and Dario both believed they deserved the inheritance and the role of head of the family. Her mother Luccia hadn’t cared for the rivalry, pitting both of her brothers against each other while she took care of Gianna and their children. It wasn’t a victory, just a stalemate. One Stefania intended to end.

Stefania dodged one more swing of a sword before colliding with a curvy young thing, twirling in place, face hidden by shadows. She took the woman in her arms and spun, lost in the familiar dream.

“You are as bad as your hedonistic cousins,” Giovanni’s voice came from behind her.

“You’re just jealous, Nonno,” said Stefania, breaking away from the woman and turning around. “You wish you could still dance with the pretty ladies. Care to step in?” She held out her hand.

For a moment, her grandfather stared her down. Then he sighed and relented, taking her hand and joining her. He could pretend he didn’t like it all he wanted, Stefania knew the truth.

“What words of wisdom do you have for me today?” She spun them around wildly, making her grandfather hold on tightly, lest he be flung away.

“Your cousins are conspiring against you,” he said ominously.

“Oh. Is that all? I already knew that,” Stefania said with a laugh.

Giovanni scowled. “Don’t be arrogant. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. Each successful raid or assassination fills them with more and more jealousy. They know I favor you.”

“Even though you give advice to all of them?” she scoffed.

“I want all my descendants to prosper,” said Giovanni, dipping her low. “I have never once helped them act against you. But now you must heed my warning. It’s not you that they’re after. Not directly. They plan on killing Rocco and Marco.” He dropped her.

Stefania hit the floor and woke up with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Her sons. Her damned cousins were going to kill her sons.

She got out of bed, blood alternating hot and cold as her late grandfather’s words echoed in her head. Thirty years after his death, she was a grown woman in the prime of her life, with a family of her own. Her boys were strong, smart, and so funny. Out of them only Rocco had the killer instinct needed to get through, but Stefania loved them both more than she ever thought herself capable of.

The man in the bed next to her stirred. Her newest lover, Jan, was a burly German man, strong and good looking but not destined to last more than a month or two. “What’s wrong?” he slurred.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Go back to sleep.” Stefania patted his bare ass, taking a moment to enjoy the firmness before she stood up and went to the kitchen.

Her estate was nowhere near as big as the family one had been, before her mother broke it up and sold it, making the three Medina factions almost start over. It was still big enough to have servants.

“Wake up,” Stefania demanded, nudging a maid up with her foot. “I want coffee and breakfast, at once.”

The maid only took a couple of kicks to scramble to her feet. “At this hour, Donna?”

“At any hour I require. Obviously.” Stefania didn’t make a habit of being cruel to her staff, but her grandfather’s words echoed in her head.

They plan on killing Rocco and Marco.

Shivering, she went into the dining room and sat at the head of the table. The pre-dawn dimness left most of the room in shadow, and that suited Stefania. These were dark times indeed, if her cousins planned on murdering children.

One of the first lessons all Medinas learned was that anything was permissible, so long as you won. Even so, there were certain lines one did not cross. Lorenzo and his children sometimes killed Stefania’s men, but they never touched family. Valentino and his clan would go out of their way to disrupt business, but they’d never come at her directly.

Was it just Benicio, or was Dario in on it? It couldn’t have been Gianna. Luccia had set her up for life, and now her children were educated. None of them were wealthy, but they made an honest living. Too honest to really be considered true Medinas. No, it couldn’t have been her.

By the time breakfast arrived, Stefania burned from the inside out. No one would hurt her children. Not while she still drew breath. The Medina patriarch had never given Stefania bad advice but for the first time, she doubted him. If he was telling the truth, then it fell on her to do something even worse.

Anything was permissible, if you won.

The opportunity came a few days later, when the letter arrived.

Dearest Stefania,

Our enmity has gone on long enough. We are stronger together, and I miss the family. Your mother, God rest her soul, was the toughest woman I have ever known and the fairest. You are the strongest and fiercest, and here I admit my inferiority. In the ongoing fight, you’ve won. I no longer want your blade at my throat. I propose that we gather the family and make up. Together we are far stronger than we could be otherwise, and I think it’s time to use that for the glory of the Medina family once more.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

* Valentino Medina

When Stefania saw it, she laughed. There it was, the open hand extended while he hid a dagger behind his back. This was exactly his style. Dario’s children had all become sharper, leaner, and hungrier with age. It wasn’t enough to have a stranglehold over the ships crossing the Mediterranean, they needed the fame and social edge only Stefania could bring.

There was only one way to handle this. She grabbed some parchment and a pen and jotted down her response. It was a quick, terse note, indicating her tentative interest and willingness to speak further. Plans already formed in her head, ways to spot the trap he was sure to lay and turn it around on him.

She received a response a week later, in the middle of lunch with her boys.

“What’s that, Mama?” Rocco asked. He was a sharp eyed thirteen year old, with all of Stefania’s confidence but a better heart. He’d grow out of it, if she had anything to do with it.

“An invitation to a party, where your cousins plan on killing me,” she said, setting the letter down. “Want to see?”

Rocco wordlessly took it and read mostly silently, mouthing along some of the words. Marco, eight years old, looked distressed.

“Why do they want to kill you, Mama?”

“Because they are jealous of me, my darling. They hate that I have what they don’t, and they’ll do anything to punish me for it.” Even kill her children.

Stefania hadn’t known a moment’s peace since the dream. Giovanni hadn’t come back to her yet with advice or warnings, and every day that passed had her more eager and willing to strike first.

“He can’t be serious,” Rocco said, slapping the letter down. “This is the most obvious trap that I’ve ever seen. He’s never cared about meeting us before, why would he now? How do you think he plans on doing it, Mama? What are we going to do about it?”

Stefania shook her head, chuckling fondly. “We aren’t going to do anything about it. I will handle this. You two will remain at home while I and my men will show up. Whatever they try to do to me, I will uncover it and turn it against them.”

She wondered how often her grandfather had lied to his children about his plans. If he were here now, Stefania knew he’d scoff at her guilt and tell her to get over it. He’d said as much in her dreams when she’d first gotten pregnant with Rocco and questioned herself and her place in the world. Still, in a harsh world, her boys were the only thing she cared about more than power.

“I promise you,” she said in a low growl of a voice, “they will regret conspiring against us.”

Rocco nodded, a fierce glint in his eye. Maybe she could let him in on some of the plan, show him how she worked and help guide him into being just as strong and unrelenting. Medinas were strong, and were capable of making the hard choices needed to stay on top.

Marco, on the other hand, didn’t look entirely convinced. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, right?”

“Of course, my darling,” Stefania said soothingly, forcing herself to smile. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Okay,” he said. “Can we go riding today?”

Stefania’s heart softened. Sweet little Marco loved horses more than anything. “Of course we can. We’ll go riding as long as you’d like.”

In the weeks that followed, Stefania played her part. All attacks against her cousins’ businesses and friendships stopped. Her men were instructed to pull back and not answer insults, no matter how slight. They went into a defensive formation, focusing on making sure her own high quality textiles and jewelry safely reached their destinations.

No one complained, as they knew better, but the turn from heightened aggression to simple business as usual rankled them. Stefania had to handle a few disputes herself, cutting down unruly men who thought to challenge her in public. She took no joy in their deaths. Each day that ticked by was another without burying her blade in Valentino’s guts.

Sleep didn’t come easy, and maybe that’s why it took until the night before the party for Stefania to dream of her grandfather again.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” He had been waiting for her, eyes blazing with fury. “I warned you so you could put a stop to the violence, not do it first. You are all my bloodline, worthy or not, and I will not have you murder them.”

They were in a dark void, where the dreams sometimes took place. It usually meant a deeper sleep, and more time together. The Medina patriarch’s eyes widened with surprise as Stefania shoved him.

“What the hell did you expect me to do, Nonno? I will not let them touch my children. If they’re willing to do this, then there’s nothing I’m unwilling to do to protect them.”

“Nothing?” Giovanni challenged from the ground. He stood slowly, drawing himself up to his full height. “Then make peace. Real peace. They only want Rocco and Marco to control you. If you -- “

“If I what, Nonno? If I give in? If I allow them to use my children to put a collar around my neck?” Stefania shook her head violently. “If you wanted a different outcome, you shouldn’t have told me what they were going to do.”

Giovanni let out a garbled cry of frustration. “I warned you so that we could come up with a plan! You know better than to blindly jump in. Have I taught you nothing?”

“You taught me that only fools hesitate,” Stefania said coldly. “You taught me that no insult goes unanswered if you have any respect for yourself. And you taught me that nothing comes before defending your family. What advice did you give them that would lead to them targeting children?”

“I’ve tried to tell them to take a page out of your book and be bold,” said Giovanni, some of his fire dimming. “I’ve tried to tell them that cowering and taking loss after loss makes them weak, and the weak deserve whatever happens to them. I told them to come to you and beg for your favor, so you could reunite the family under one banner once more.”

Stefania turned away from him. “So you played on their insecurities until they wanted my blood and the blood of my children. Well played, Nonno. Now there is no choice. It’s us or them, and I refuse to lose. You taught me too well for that. Goodbye.”

“Stefania, please,” he started, but it was too late.

She jerked awake, tears in her eyes. She furiously wiped them away. It was foolish to waste them on her enemies, but it was clear that’s all she had left. Aside from Rocco, Marco, and Gianna’s useless children and grandchildren, the rest of the world could burn. Stefania stood and started her day early.

Ever since she had been an angry little girl, there was one weakness above all else she abhorred in herself. Every battle, operation, or confrontation had been preceded by the cold fear of the unknown and of failing. Although Stefania knew it to be normal, after this many years fighting for gold and glory, she should have been above it all.

The only way out was through. Stefania spent the day getting her men ready, going over the plans in her head, and slowly boiling over. When the time came to arrive, there was none of her usual easy laughter and reassurances.

“Be good while I’m gone,” she told her children, stopping just long enough to grab them both in a hug. “You are the pride and hope of the Medinas. When I am dead and gone, it’ll be on you to take everything that I was with you, to pass on to your own children when you grow up.

“Do you understand? The bloodline is strong and must pass on. This is how the Medinas live forever.” Even when too angry to think of him, Giovanni’s words came from her lips.

“I understand, Mama,” Rocco said with the stoic strength of a worthy heir. “I’ll take care of Marco and protect this house until you return.”

“Good boy,” she said, kissing him one last time.

“You’ll be okay, right?” Marco pleaded. He never reacted well to his mother’s anger.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Stefania with one last kiss for him as well. “But if you care to, say a prayer for your cousins. They’re going to need it.”

And then she and her men were off, a four hour trek across the countryside to her cousin Valentino’s estate. She wouldn’t return.