I've killed men for less.
No, scratch that. I've killed men for more. For power, for respect, for control. But this—this is different.
This is personal.
Elena is gone.
Not just taken; ripped from my side like she was a prize I never had the right to hold.
And Riccardo De Rossi—my uncle, my father's brother—has turned traitor. The man I trusted more than any living soul.
Tonight, the cold in my veins is sharper than any bullet. The rage that fuels me is a firestorm.
The entire Syndicate knows the rules. Blood is sacred. Family is sacred. But Riccardo shattered that code when he kidnapped Elena.
He wants to break me.
He wants to break her.
But I'll burn everything before I let that happen.
⸻
The war room is a cage of shadows and cold steel, just the way I like it. My closest men stand silent, waiting. I don't have to ask twice. They know what's coming.
Leo, my most trusted consigliere, approaches with the latest intel. His face is grim, but steady—like a rock in the storm.
"We traced Riccardo's location to an abandoned textile warehouse near the docks, South Jersey," he says, flicking through the satellite scans on the screen. "Signal jammer active. No one's coming or going for hours."
"Perfect place for a ghost to hide," I mutter.
"Your call, boss. We can move in now or wait for reinforcements."
I shake my head. "Now. The longer she's there, the more dangerous it gets."
Leo nods. "You want to lead?"
I step forward, voice low and commanding. "I'm going with the breach team."
They exchange looks but don't argue. They know better.
⸻
The drive to the docks is tense, the silence between us heavy. The city's skyline glimmers faintly behind the fog rolling off the water, but out here, the world feels broken—abandoned. Like every shadow is waiting to swallow us whole.
We move with precision—five men, silencers on, weapons ready. Santino disables the perimeter alarms, Nico covers the rear. Matteo and Luca flank me as we approach the rusted door.
I count three heartbeats in my head. Then Leo kicks the door open.
Inside is darkness, thick and suffocating.
My boots echo as we advance, weaving through rows of rusted machines like forgotten giants. The air is damp, smelling of decay and forgotten violence.
Then I hear it—a voice.
Low, cold. Calculating.
"Elena."
Riccardo's voice.
I freeze.
My pulse roars in my ears. Elena's name—spoken like a threat—cuts deeper than any bullet.
We press forward.
⸻
Around the corner, a room sealed with reinforced metal bars.
Inside, I see her.
Elena.
She's tied to a chair, bruised but alive. Her eyes widen when she sees me—a mix of relief and fear.
Before I can move, Riccardo steps into the light, a cruel smile curling his lips.
"Alessio," he says, mockingly polite. "Right on time."
I level my gun at him, fury blazing in my gaze.
"Let her go."
Riccardo laughs. "You don't get to decide. Not anymore."
I don't hesitate.
The fight is brutal and fast. Riccardo is slippery—experienced—but I'm fueled by something he'll never understand. Protecting Elena isn't just about power; it's about love. Possessive, desperate, all-consuming.
I land a punch, then another, each strike a promise I won't lose her.
Finally, he falls, groaning on the cold floor.
I rush to Elena, cutting the ropes from her wrists.
She shivers in my arms, fragile but fierce.
"Riccardo told me things," she whispers. "About my mother. About Enzo. About everything."
I hold her tight, voice steady. "We'll talk. Later. Right now, you're safe."
But deep down, I know the war has only just begun.