Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Sophia
M atteo zips up his jacket, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. The three of us stand near the front door of the safe house, our makeshift war room reduced to nothingness. Alessio hasn't stopped pacing, his movements deliberate as he checks his weapons, every click and snap making the knot in my stomach twist tighter.
Matteo smirks faintly as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "Look, I am sure I don't need to tell you guys this, but no dying on me, okay?"
"No funerals, no mourning," Alessio replies, the words crisp, his eyes finally lifting to Matteo's.
The phrase hangs in the air like an unspoken agreement—one only men like them could live by. I look between them, both calm on the surface but steeled for something worse beneath. This life leaves no room for goodbyes, no space for grief, and yet it still feels like Matteo is walking into the unknown.
"Don't get yourself killed," Alessio remarks.
Matteo grins like he hasn't just been handed the weight of the world. "Don't worry. I've got a habit of staying alive. I'm a cockroach like that." He flicks his eyes to me. "Keep him in line, will you?"
I force a small smile, though it feels hollow. "Try not to get into trouble, Matteo."
"Trouble's what I do best." He gives a lazy two-finger salute, then steps out the door without another word, leaving a heavy stillness in his wake.
The quiet stretches after Matteo's departure, filled with things neither of us wants to say. Alessio stands near the door, his hands resting on his belt. He doesn't look at me, but I can feel his attention on me anyway, like a tether that hasn't been broken since we left the cabin.
"You'll be careful?" I ask softly.
He exhales, finally meeting my stare. "You don't have to worry about me."
"You always say that," I murmur, stepping closer. "And it never stops me from worrying."
He's quiet for a beat, watching me with something unreadable in his expression. "It's not my safety that matters here, Sophia. It's yours."
"Stop," I say, sharper than I mean to. "I am a big girl, Alessio. I can take care of myself. You don't have to be looking over your shoulder every second to check if I'm still breathing. I have my gun, and I know the rules. Stay close to you at all times."
"This isn't about you being a burden or a distraction for me, you know?" he says, his tone low. "It's about what happens to me if something happens to you."
The words stop me cold. He looks away, his mask slipping just enough for me to see the truth behind it—his fear, his frustration, and something deeper he refuses to say.
I swallow, the ache in my chest impossible to ignore. "And what happens to me if I lose you?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he steps forward and lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch is brief but electric, and I hate how much it makes me want to lean closer.
"Just… stay sharp tonight." He speaks like he hasn't said this a thousand times to me before. "Don't do anything reckless."
The moment passes too quickly, and he pulls away, retreating into himself again. I nod, biting back the words I want to say— Stay safe, I need you. Instead, I watch as he picks up his bag, his expression unreadable once more.
"Let's move," the switch in his stance to business clear.
The city disappears behind us, swallowed by the blackness of the industrial district. I sit still in the passenger seat, my fingers curled tightly around the cold steel of the gun resting in my lap. Alessio drives, his focus locked on the empty road ahead. The hum of the car's engine is loud in a way that feels wrong.
"We're close," Alessio mutters, breaking the quiet.
I look ahead, and there it is—the warehouse. Its hulking shape rises against the night sky, silent and still. A single light flickers above the main entrance, weak and yellow, like it's about to burn out. Everything about this place feels wrong, even though nothing looks out of place.
"Do you see anyone?" I ask, squinting into the darkness.
Alessio slows the car to a stop a short distance away, killing the headlights. He peers through the windshield, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter. "No guards at the gate," he says, his tone carefully neutral.
"Maybe they're inside," I suggest, though the words sound more like a question.
"Maybe," he mutters. His expression doesn't change, but I see the way his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel.
He cuts the engine. The absence of sound makes everything worse—the shadows seem darker, the stillness heavier. I grip the handle of my gun, steadying my nerves as Alessio turns to look at me.
"Stay close," he says firmly.
"I know," I reply, matching his tone.
We slip out of the car, the cold air biting at my skin as I follow him toward the warehouse. Gravel crunches under our boots with every step, loud in the emptiness. Alessio walks a few paces ahead, his posture tense but composed. His head moves slightly as he scans the area, but he doesn't say anything. Neither do I.
The closer we get to the building, the smaller it seems to make me feel. The air is thick here, the weak light above the door barely cutting through the dark. Everything looks abandoned—like no one's been here in weeks.
"You think the shipment's still inside?" I ask quietly.
Alessio doesn't answer immediately. He tests the door handle, finding it locked. "Only one way to find out." He glances back at me. "Stay behind me."
I nod, my grip on the gun tightening. I don't need him to keep telling me.
He moves to the side of the door, producing a small tool from his jacket and working the lock with swift, practiced motions. I hear a faint click , and Alessio slowly eases the door open.
The smell hits me first—oil, metal, and something stale that makes my stomach turn. The interior is dimly lit, just enough light spilling from high-up fixtures to show rows of crates stacked haphazardly.
"It's quiet," I murmur, stepping in behind him.
"Too quiet," he mutters.
I glance at him sharply. "You think something's wrong?"
Alessio doesn't answer right away. He moves forward, gun raised, his steps silent as we navigate between crates. The faint buzz of the lights above is the only sound now, a dull hum that makes my skin crawl.
I stop beside a row of wooden pallets, scanning the space for any sign of movement. My heart beats a little too fast, and I tell myself it's just the adrenaline. But even as I try to steady my breathing, something doesn't feel right.
"We need to find whatever Domenico's hiding here," Alessio says quietly. "Stay sharp, and watch the corners."
I nod, moving when he moves. The rows of crates seem endless, stretching far into the back of the building. Shadows pool between them like they're alive, hiding something I can't see.
Suddenly, Alessio stops. He raises his hand, and I freeze, holding my breath.
"What?" I whisper.
He doesn't answer. He's staring at something up ahead—a faint glimmer of red. When I squint, I see it's just a tiny blinking light.
Before I can say anything, a metallic clink echoes from somewhere to our right. My chest tightens.
"Move!" Alessio hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me back just as the first explosion tears through the air.
The blast sends a shockwave of heat and sound through the warehouse. I stumble, Alessio's grip the only thing keeping me upright as crates shatter and splinter around us. Smoke billows up, thick and choking, filling my lungs as I cough and try to regain my footing.
"Ambush!" Alessio yells.
Gunfire erupts, sharp and relentless. I duck behind a fallen crate, gripping my gun with shaking hands as bullets tear through the space around us. My ears ring, my pulse thundering.
Alessio crouches beside me, his face smudged with dust and smoke. "You okay?"
I nod quickly, even though the adrenaline coursing through me has left me shaking. "Where are they?"
He peeks out from behind the crate, firing a few shots before ducking back down. "Everywhere."
The words send a chill through me, but I push the fear down. I tighten my grip on the gun, forcing myself to focus. I'm not going to let this end here.
"Stay low," Alessio orders calmly but still with a firmness. "We're getting out of this."
He moves ahead, his body a blur as he fires and takes cover. I follow as best as I can, my heart hammering with every step. The gunfire is deafening, echoing off the warehouse walls, but I can hear Alessio cutting through it, giving sharp orders to stay close, to keep moving.
And I do. Because I refuse to let this be the end.
The warehouse is chaos. Gunfire cracks from all directions, echoing off the metal walls like thunder. I keep low, my back pressed against a crate as splinters explode above me. Alessio is just ahead, his movements precise, his gun barking in short bursts as he takes down two men closing in on us.
"Move!" he shouts.
I don't hesitate. I dart forward, crouched low, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. The air is thick with smoke, the acrid smell burning my nose. My foot slips slightly on shattered wood, but Alessio's hand finds my arm, steadying me for just a moment before he pulls me behind another crate.
"Are you hit?" he asks, his eyes scanning me quickly.
"No," I pant, clutching the gun tighter. "I'm fine."
"Stay close," he says, his tone sharp but controlled.
I nod, my fear simmering into something else—determination. I'm not going to let Domenico win. Not here. Not tonight.
Alessio signals for me to follow as he pushes forward again, his focus locked ahead. The gunfire slows slightly, a pause that feels more dangerous than the shooting. My fingers curl tighter around the grip of the gun as we move toward the side of the warehouse, where a broken exit door hangs open.
"We're almost there," Alessio mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I'm two steps behind him when the door slams shut with a loud clang .
A figure steps out from the shadows—one of Domenico's men, his gun raised. Alessio fires first, a single shot that drops him before he can pull the trigger. But the sound draws attention. A burst of gunfire erupts from the far side of the warehouse, cutting off our escape.
"Back!" Alessio yells, pushing me toward another stack of crates.
We drop behind cover as bullets tear through the air. My pulse races, my breaths shallow. I glance at Alessio, his face set like stone, his jaw clenched.
"This way's no good," I say, trying to keep the same steadiness. "We're trapped."
"Not yet," he growls. He scans the warehouse, his eyes narrowing as he spots something across the room.
"There." He points to an old maintenance ladder bolted to the far wall, leading up to a broken skylight. "We can get out through the roof."
I nod, my body already moving before he's done talking. Alessio fires a few more shots, covering our path as we sprint for the ladder. The noise feels endless, gunfire and shouts blending into one constant roar.
"Go!" Alessio orders as we reach the base of the ladder.
I don't argue. I grab the rungs and start to climb, my muscles straining as I haul myself upward. The metal creaks beneath me, but I keep moving.
Below, Alessio fires at the men closing in on us. I hear him curse under his breath, followed by a grunt of pain. My heart stops.
"Alessio!"
"I'm fine," he barks. "Keep going!"
I force myself to move faster, my palms slick with sweat as I pull myself onto the roof. The night air hits me like a slap, sharp and cold, but I don't stop. I scramble to the edge, turning back just as Alessio appears at the top of the ladder. He pulls himself onto the roof, his face grim, a streak of blood visible on his arm.
"You're hurt," I say, moving toward him.
"It's nothing," he growls, brushing me off. "We need to keep moving."
He pulls me to my feet, and together we move across the rooftop, the gravel crunching faintly beneath our boots. Below us, I can hear Domenico's men shouting, their flashlights sweeping the area.
"We'll jump to the next building," Alessio says, eyeing the short gap between rooftops.
"You're kidding," I mutter, my chest still heaving.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Before I can respond, he's already moving, sprinting across the roof and leaping over the gap. He lands hard but steady, rolling to absorb the impact. He stands quickly and turns, holding out his hand.
"Your turn."
I take a deep breath, forcing down the fear clawing at my throat. Then I run. The edge comes faster than I expect, and for a second, I'm airborne—weightless, breathless—before my feet hit solid ground. I stumble forward, Alessio catching me before I can fall.
"Not bad," he mutters, helping me to my feet.
"Don't sound so surprised," I shoot back, brushing dust from my hands.
He almost smirks, but the moment passes as the sound of shouting rises again. Flashlights sweep toward the rooftops.
"We need to keep moving," Alessio says.
Together, we disappear into the night, leaving the warehouse and Domenico's men behind. The ache in my legs, the burn in my chest—it's all worth it. Because as I glance at Alessio, his face set in determination, I know we've struck a blow tonight.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't clean. But we survived.
We find the car and make our way from the area.
This fight isn't over. Not by a long shot.