8
Alessio
I ride in silence with Kota, Antonio, and Aldo to the abandoned warehouse by the docks.
The swoosh from the air conditioner is the only sound in the SUV.
No one speaks, we know why we’re here.
Seb’s cousin, Nico, kidnapped Seb’s wife and is holding her for ransom.
This isn’t personal, it’s business.
And he’s about to learn that the hard way.
When we pull up, our men are already in position, at least a dozen outside, armed and waiting to ambush the warehouse.
We’re waiting for confirmation that Seb’s wife is safe before we unleash hell.
I stand near the door, watching everything going down inside, while we wait for the signal.
Seconds drag, stretching into something that feels like fucking hours.
Through the doorway, I spot Seb, his jaw locked tight, eyes dark and burning as they stay locked on his aunt Rinna, Nico’s mom, the bitch behind this mess.
She’s been the mastermind behind every bit of the bullshit in Chicago.
Had Roman playing chef in Seb’s kitchen just to spy on him, started screwing with his deliveries at the docks, and got his men killed.
She set up her own nephew, her own blood, just so her golden boy could take over the Chicago territory.
Rinna stands with a gun pressed to his wife’s head; her expression is deadly cold and pure fucking evil.
That alone earns her a bullet to the head, in my book.
Her grip doesn’t shake, her finger hovering too close to the trigger, like she’s itching for an excuse to pull it.
Off to the left, Nico is unraveling.
He shouts so loud, his voice starts to crack while he barks orders at the stunad Roman.
The idiot he planned this mess with.
Looks like their partnership is already crumbling.
Good, it makes it easier for me to tear it apart.
But my focus stays on Rinna.
Her finger twitches on the trigger, still hovering too damn close.
One wrong move, and this whole thing turns ugly fast.
My grip tightens around my gun, still secured in my belt, but ready to go the second I need it.
And I’m going to need it.
We’re not waiting much longer, that much is fucking clear .
Then Mia’s eyes lock onto Seb’s.
Something flickers between them, it’s quick, but gone before I can place it.
And then—she moves.
Fast.
She ducks out of Rinna’s line of fire, pulling a knife from God knows where, and right before Rinna can react, Mia drives the knife straight into her shoulder.
The blade sinks deep, and a sickening tear of flesh and fabric hits my ears.
And for a split second, the whole room freezes.
Rinna’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open as blood seeps through her shirt, staining the fabric red.
She barely registers the pain before Mia bolts toward Sebastiano.
“You’re gonna pay for this, you little whore!” Rinna shrieks, her gun swings back toward Mia, finger tightening on the trigger.
I give Kota a nod and move toward the door.
Shit’s about to go down.
Then, a gunshot rips through the warehouse.
A scream follows, then more shots explode like rapid fire.
It’s a chain reaction of pure fucking chaos from all angles, as Seb and Antonio’s men swarm in.
Seb steps in front of Mia, taking a bullet meant for her, and drops to the ground.
For a split second, I think he’s done for, but then he pulls his gun, eyes blazing with fury, and unloads his entire clip into Rinna.
Every single shot hits.
She doesn’t get back up .
Mia drops to his side, sobbing.
“Bash, are you okay?”
It’s just a shoulder wound, I think.
He’s fine- it’s nothing serious.
But Mia doesn’t see that.
All she sees is her husband bleeding on the floor.
Seb grits his teeth, trying to downplay it.
“Never fucking better, Piccolina. ” Before I can say a word, the entire warehouse explodes into a damn war zone.
Men flood in from every direction, gunfire roaring from every angle.
But my focus zeroes in on the stupido pezzo di merda who fucked with my money, by fucking with Seb’s shipments.
Shipments of weapons that keep our allies happy, our enemies nervous, and our pockets full.
Someone who steals from him steals from me.
Roman.
He’s running like a fucking coward.
And nothing pisses me off more, he’s just begging for a bullet.
The only thing worse than a thief is a spineless prick who can’t face his consequences like a real man.
As I chase Roman down, the flash of a fiery redhead comes to mind, and a sharp, phantom pain flares in my groin where she landed her kick.
That little Sirena —she’s next on my list of scores to settle, but Roman comes first .
My boots slamming against concrete thud through the warehouse as I close in.
His ragged breaths and stumbling steps tell me everything I need to know.
He’s already exhausted.
When I finally reach him, my rage snaps, and I let loose.
My fist crashes into his face, the impact sending him reeling.
Another punch, harder than the first.
His head snaps back, blood splattering as my knuckles connect.
Roman doesn’t even try to fight back, fucking pussy.
His arms barely come up to shield himself before they go limp at his sides, his body slumping under the weight of my hits.
I should stop, but I don’t.
Not until he learns exactly what it costs to fuck with me.
Roman collapses, his body crumpling under me, growing less responsive with every hit.
I drop onto him, straddling his chest, fists still flying, landing blow after blow.
The bastard isn’t even reacting anymore, his head snapping back with every hit, his glassy eyes flinching but unfocused.
It’s almost disappointing.
Weak men don’t deserve mercy.
But they also don’t deserve my time.
My final punch lands with a sickening thud.
Roman’s eyes stay open, vacant, but he’s still breathing.
Pissed, I stand and yank my gun from its holster.
He’s making this too damn easy .
One, two, three shots, then I just keep going, round after round.
The gun kicks in my grip, each shot tearing through what’s left of him, making sure there’s nothing left to salvage.
“I think he’s dead, man,” Kota calls over the ringing in my ears.
But I don’t take my eyes off Roman’s lifeless body.
“Just making sure,” I mutter, pulling the trigger one last time, just for good measure.
Kota exhales, scanning the bloodbath in front of us.
“Clean-up crew is here.”
I rack the slide, clearing the last round from the chamber.
The metallic click echoes in the empty space, followed by the clink of the shell casing hitting the concrete.
Sliding the safety back on, I holster my gun and turn to Kota.
“Now that this is taken care of, call Nathan. Find out where my stalker is.” I roll my shoulders, shaking out the adrenaline that’s still buzzing in me.
Shootouts have that effect on me.
“We need to wrap this up and get the hell out of here.”
I pick the lock and slip into her apartment through the front door, letting the door close behind me without a sound.
Inside, it’s stale and dusty, like she barely exists here at all.
This place is a joke.
The furniture is bare minimum, a beat-up couch shoved in the corner, facing a small TV that looks like it hasn’t been touched in weeks.
The space feels cold, not from the temperature but from the complete lack of life.
It’s not a home.
It’s a safehouse, a place to hide.
My boots barely make a sound as I move across the worn hardwood, heading toward her bedroom.
It’s even more depressing.
A full-size bed with wrinkled sheets is shoved against one wall like an afterthought, and a single nightstand holds a half-empty glass of water.
There’s a wooden chair in the corner that looks more decorative than functional.
It’s tiny and looks stiff and uncomfortable.
Alonzo lurks around the old woman’s place while Kota stands guard outside Olivia’s.
They’re posted in the hallway, with eyes on both doors but out of sight, so Olivia won’t notice them when she comes back here.
Once my stalker gets home, Kota will make sure no one gets in or out of her place without my say.
Meanwhile, I’m here, surrounded by her pitiful excuse for a life she’s built.
She thinks she’s clever and can stay one step ahead of me.
The thought makes my blood boil.
My fists curl at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
I pace the tiny-ass room, my eyes scan her things, what little there is.
It’s like she’s already halfway out the door, prepared to disappear forever.
But she’s not leaving until I get what I came for.
The idea of her running from me makes me want to rip this place apart, but there isn’t much to destroy, even if I did.
She’s mine to deal with.
Olivia Morano has a lot to explain, and I’ll make sure she does.
One way or another.
I sink into the only chair in the place, the damn thing creaking under my weight and already hurts my ass to sit in.
The apartment is silent, except for the faint hum outside, mainly because the window is cracked, making this place not soundproof and definitely not secure.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling my attention from the broken window.
I pull out my phone and glance at the message.
Alonzo: She bolted out and is coming your way.
Looks like she’s running from something.
I smirk, my fingers typing out a quick reply.
Me: Probably me.
She should be afraid.
I slide the phone back into my pocket just as the front door flies open, slamming into the wall hard enough to rattle the frame .
She’s here.
Olivia’s footsteps stomp through the small space before another door slams shut, followed by the rush of running water.
I sit up, my smirk fading.
It can’t be a coincidence that Antonio’s employee gets sick just as Olivia swoops in.
I fucking hate being left guessing.
Especially by the one who’s been watching me.
I yank my phone back out.
Me: Check on the old woman.
A reply comes almost immediately.
Alonzo: On it, Boss!
I shove the phone away again, my jaw feels tight, and the unease is starting to gnaw at me.
Something’s not right, and I’m about to find out exactly what.