22. Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
I meet Enzo at the warehouse, he has gathered as many loyal men as we have. In the war room, the air is filled with the scent of gun oil and old paper. The long table is strewn with maps of Marco's compound, marked with red ink for every known entry point, guard rotation, and weak spot. Weapons—handguns, rifles, knives—are laid out in neat, deadly rows.
I stand at the head of the table, leaning forward. The men gathered around me are the ones I can trust with my life—men who have fought beside me and killed for me. They know the cost of failure. I have to trust them now. I can't allow doubt in my mind to distract me.
"Marco has Serafina and Leo." I point to the cellar on the blueprint, "I presume they'll be in here." It didn't look like they were in the house, the floor was bare concrete, and I saw brick walls. It looked dark.
Enzo steps forward. His face is grim, his voice steady. "Boss, Marco's expecting you. He won't make this easy. His compound is locked down tighter than a maximum-security prison. We can't just walk in."
He looks at the paper, "Getting in that deep, to where they are… is going to be a bloody nightmare." I don't expect it to be anything less.
I straighten, eyes hard. "We won't just walk in. We'll tear it down. Every wall, every man standing between me and my family will fall." I am not stupid. He's waiting for us. He knew I'd never come alone.
The men exchange looks. They understand.
"No outsiders. Only the men who bleed for this family." I look around the room. I am not taking chances, "He already got to someone in my camp, and I won't have another traitor in our midst."
Enzo nods and turns to relay the orders. Around the room, my soldiers begin to make plans. This is no longer just business. This is personal.
The heavy metal doors groan open behind me. I don't have to turn to know who it is. I have ignored the thousands of calls from my father. He wants to tell me not to start this fight—but I am not going to listen.
"So, you're going to burn it all down over a woman and a child."
Yes, I am.
Matteo D'Angelo—my father, the man who built this empire on blood and fear—steps into the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He watches me with a cold, calculating gaze, the way a king watches a rebellious prince. I'm the prodigal son. I came back—but I didn't come back for him, and he can't stand that.
"I'm going to end this," I say, my voice a low growl. "I should have killed him long ago." My father wouldn't let me kill Marco back then, now he cannot stop me.
He chuckles darkly. "Marco is baiting you. You walk into his trap, and you risk everything we've built. Do you think this family can survive another war? Do you think you can?"
I don't care if I can, all I care about is Serafina and my son.
I face him fully, meeting his death stare. "This isn't about the family. It's about Serafina and Leo. And if you can't understand that, then maybe you built the wrong kind of empire. That boy is my family." I do not care if there is a war, if he survives it, or not. My father's agenda and mine are no longer the same.
Matteo's face hardens, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "I built this from nothing! Every brick, every dollar, every alliance was built with blood. For you! And now you're ready to throw it all away. For what?" He asks, "Some woman with no family, and a bastard that might not even be yours? What about Isabella? She's a good match, the right choice for you."
I take a step forward, towering over him. "I am doing it for the only thing that matters. Would you not have done the same thing for me? Why is my son any different?" I challenge him. My father always claimed he did everything for me—but it was really for him.
His lips curl into a sneer. "You're your mother's son. Soft. Weak." He wants to belittle me, to make me feel like shit—he wants me to cower and give in to him. Not this time. "It's her fault you are this way. Choosing the wrong woman can be a curse, I know."
God, he is a piece of work.
I don't flinch. "Maybe. But I will burn this legacy of yours to the ground before I let Marco take mine from me." He hasn't realized yet that I don't need him, the pleasing him is no longer my priority in life.
For a long moment, we stand in silence—two men carved from the same stone, a generational standoff. Then Matteo turns away, his footsteps fading into the dark. He's not giving up. He just can't see past his own stubbornness. Let him leave. Let him watch this precious empire burn if it means saving mine.
Outside the offices, the warehouse is alive with the threat of violence. Trucks are loaded with crates of ammunition, men check and recheck their weapons, and bulletproof vests are strapped on with tense hands. Rain pouring down outside, the cold bite of the early dawn frigid with tension.
I move among them, inspecting the crates and boxes, listening in on their whispered conversations and making sure I don't have anyone who isn't loyal to us. Each man straightens as I pass, their fear is real. They all expect me to be just like my father—and he has always killed first asked later.
Enzo approaches, "Boss, Marco's compound is a fortress. Our drones have been over there a few times now. Multiple entry points, but all are heavily guarded. Snipers on the roof, patrols along the perimeter. He's dug in deep." He's expecting me to attack.
I nod, absorbing every word. "We create a distraction at the south gate—heavy fire. Fucking blow something up if we need to. Make him believe we're coming in full force. Then we breach the north wall. Small team. Swift and quiet. I'll go in myself."
Enzo hesitates. "Boss?—"
I cut him off. "No arguments. This is my fight. That is my son in there."
He nods, resigned. "We will have your back."
I check my handgun, then I holster it and tighten the vest around my chest. Every second that ticks by is another moment Marco is preparing. Another moment Serafina and Leo are in danger. He's not sent another message—I pray to God they're still alive. If God even listens to men like me, is another story.
"We're ready. Just waiting on your word." Enzo says to me. I am standing in my warehouse facing a fleet of vehicles armed to the hilt. Men are ready to go to war for me—for 'family' and 'honor' . I wonder why they are so loyal. I have been shaken in my loyalty, and I doubt I can change the way I feel now. Do they follow because of fear, or because they really believe in the mafia?
I turn slowly, scanning the small army we have pulled together. "Let's go."
The armored vehicles roar to life, engines growling in the dark. I get into my SUV with Enzo as my passenger; he's been at my side for years. He knows the past—and why I am the way I am. He has been a buffer between my father and me, or we'd probably have killed one another already. I trust him with my life—and theirs. He is the closest thing I have to a friend.
"My father will not forgive me this time," I say to him as we drive out of the giant warehouse. "I'm done, and he is going to make things even harder." Enzo looks at me.
"He'll get over it."
"Not this time," I say. "I think I have pushed too far. He's old-school and just can't accept that times are changing. We don't live in a world where arranged marriage, and family alliances mean what they did before. The world is changing—the mafia is changing. These old men that won't change with it are going to be left behind."
"You know he just wants you to take over and be like him."
"I will never fucking be like him— Jesus —one is enough. I think I'm done with all of it, having a kid makes you see stuff differently." I admit and he laughs at me.
"I have three daughters, Alessandro," he reminds me, "You don't think that I understand? But what choice has a guy like me got? My family is not powerful. I worked my way in and up. If I go against the boss, I will just end up in a shallow grave somewhere." He's right. We have all been trapped in this vicious cycle.
"He's losing his mind," I pause to check the cars behind us are still following, "I'm not being funny; there have been things. Like this stuff with Isabella. I think he's going down the same road as his father." My grandfather had dementia; he went completely doo-lally but refused to let Matteo take over until he was dead.
"Could be," he shrugs, "I know he has had a lot of secret meetings lately, at night when everyone has gone. Shady characters that we shouldn't be mixing our business with." I had heard a rumor from one of the women he used to sleep with.
"Once I have them back, I am going to tell him I'm out. If you want out—I'll take you with me." I give him a chance to walk away—a luxury not many have in this business.
"I'll think about it." He chuckles, he thinks I'm crazy now.