The city didn't sleep. It just waited in silence for the next shot, the next scream, the next broken bottle against concrete.
Ethan Moretti sat in the passenger seat of a black SUV, hood up, eyes steady on the abandoned warehouse across the street. The others were restless—Marco cracking his knuckles, Luca drumming against the steering wheel, Dante smirking like this was a game.
"Three guards out front," Ethan muttered, scanning. "Two more on the roof, probably more inside."
Dante chuckled. "So what? We've handled worse."
Ethan's gaze cut to him, sharp enough to slice. "That's the point. We handled worse because we had a plan. We don't walk in blind."
The tension was a familiar weight in the car. They'd grown up together, fought together, bled together. But Ethan always felt the difference—while the others lived for the chaos, he lived for control.
Marco finally broke the silence. "So? What's the move?"
Ethan exhaled, calm, steady. "Quick and loud. Marco, you take left. Luca, cover the exit. Dante—" his voice dipped with warning, "—you stay on me. No hero shit."
Dante smirked but didn't argue.
The doors opened, and the night swallowed them whole.
The guards didn't stand a chance. Marco's fists were hammers, Luca moved like fire, and Ethan… Ethan was precise. A blow to the throat, a strike to the ribs, an elbow across a jaw—clean, efficient. No wasted motion.
Inside, chaos erupted. Men shouted, scrambling for weapons. Gunfire cracked, glass shattered. Dante charged too far ahead, laughing as he swung a bat into someone's skull. Ethan cursed under his breath, covering him, dropping two men with brutal efficiency.
The air stank of blood and gunpowder.
In less than ten minutes, it was over. The rivals were down, the warehouse theirs.
Ethan stood in the wreckage, chest rising and falling, not from exhaustion but from the weight of it all. Marco grinned, Luca whooped in victory, and Dante tossed the bloodied bat aside like a trophy.
"Another win," Dante said, his grin feral. "That's how you send a message."
Ethan didn't smile. His eyes drifted to the broken bodies on the floor, then to his bloodstained hands.
Victory always looked the same. And it never felt clean.
He pulled his hood back and walked out into the car. After a while the others came out and also got into the car and drove home.
Ethan made his way directly into his room,took off his clothes and went directly into the bathroom. He freshened up and went to lie on his bed. This was the life he had grown up in. The legacy his family had carried on for generations even after the death of his parents.