The convoy of black cars screeched to a halt, engines rumbling nervously as if the machines themselves sensed the presence before them. Soldiers inside gripped their rifles tighter, their eyes darting toward their Don for courage. But courage was a ghost tonight, and the Devil was real.
Lucius Draxion stood in the middle of the road, a shadow cloaked in moonlight, his crimson eyes burning like coals pulled from hell. He didn't carry a weapon. He didn't need one. His very presence was the blade that cut into their souls.
"Get him!" Matteo roared, voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury.
The doors burst open, and a dozen Grimaldi soldiers spilled into the street. Their rifles spat fire, bullets tearing through the night. But Lucius didn't flinch. He walked forward, slow and deliberate, laughter spilling from his throat—a sound colder than the gunfire, sharper than the bullets.
One by one, the shooters faltered. Their hands shook. Some missed entirely. Others dropped their weapons, as if realizing no bullet could pierce the Devil. The closer Lucius came, the harder it was to breathe.
And then he moved.
In a blur of speed and brutality, Lucius closed the distance. His fist shattered a soldier's jaw. His elbow crushed another's skull. He snapped necks like twigs, tore rifles from trembling hands, and drove them through their owners' throats. Blood sprayed across the pavement, steaming under the cold night.
By the time silence fell, half of Matteo's men were already corpses. The rest stumbled backward, their bodies betraying them as warm piss ran down their legs.
Lucius's grin widened. "Is this the great Grimaldi Syndicate?" His voice was calm, almost amused, but each word was a dagger. "Pathetic."
Matteo, trapped in the back seat of the lead car, felt his stomach twist. His soldiers had sworn loyalty, yet they now looked more like sheep awaiting slaughter. He wanted to shout, to order them forward, but the words died on his tongue.
Lucius tilted his head, his eyes locking on Matteo. "Your time has come, Don." His laughter rang through the night, unholy and merciless, echoing through every alley of the city. "And when I'm finished, not even your bones will remember your name."
Matteo's hand went for his pistol. His heart pounded like a drum. For the first time in his life, he realized this was not a war between men. This was a war against the Devil himself.
And the Devil was already reaching for him.