CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
WAR
CATCH
I stepped out of Marco’s condo, the crisp night air barely cooling the fire in my veins. A gray SUV crawled down the street toward me, its headlights slicing through the darkness.
Fuck. They found me.
Of course, they did. That was the whole point of Marco’s meeting with my boss—to prove he could get to me anytime he wanted.
My pulse hammered. I kept my movements casual, ignoring the SUV as I slid into my own. They sped up.
Shit.
Tires screeched as I gunned it forward, cutting in front of them just as gunfire erupted.
Bullets clinked off the reinforced glass, but not all the windows were bulletproof. Gripping the wheel with one hand, I yanked open the center console, shoving each earpiece in place.
More gunfire erupted—this time from above. Marco must’ve stationed bodyguards on the rooftop after our chat minutes ago.
But their efforts did little to slow down my enemies.
I raced toward an intersection, the traffic light flicking red.
"Shit!" I roared, slamming my foot on the gas.
Horns blared. A semi missed me by inches. My heart slammed against my ribs. There was barely time to breathe.
Last night, I set up the earpieces once Bianca and I arrived home. I had planned to take the fight to Mavin right after Bianca and I got married. But the girls’ war threw everything off track. Now Mavin brought the war to me.
But while I may not have been prepared for combat at this exact moment, I could quickly get ready.
“Ritchie, come in,” I hollered out.
I didn’t need to yell but with the chaos barreling down on me like a tornado I felt the need to yell.
"I'm here," he answered instantly.
"Did you reach Romeo and Rémy? I know it’s their week off."
“Yeah, they were on a mini vacation with Asia, but they’re close. They’re on their way."
Relief settled in my chest. My brothers—not by blood, but by war—were coming. We fought together in Chicago, and now, we’d do it again.
A bullet pinged off my rear windshield.
"Where the fuck are you?" Ritchie demanded.
"Being chased by Mavin’s men. Some of the windows are bulletproof—good thing, right?" I let out a tense chuckle.
Another SUV joined the chase, keeping pace with me as I weaved through traffic. Its tinted windows made it impossible to see the driver.
"Catch, I hear the gunfire. What street are you on?"
I shouted the name of the street as I swerved into oncoming traffic.
Another SUV appeared—this one not firing at me but at my pursuers.
Who the hell—?
It was hard to pay attention to them when I was swerving all over the road dodging cars. My heart was in my throat. There was no way I could go out like this. I had to be with my wife longer than a few measly months.
My SUV fishtailed as I veered down a side street.
Come on, Catch. Lose these assholes.
You need to be here to see that beautiful baby when he or she is born eight months from now.
I couldn’t focus on that at the moment.
Glancing quickly in the rearview mirror, I saw that I had lost them. I exhaled sharply and relayed my new location to Ritchie, steering toward Elizabeth—Nick’s territory.
I needed to drag these bastards out of Jersey City.
Just because I couldn’t see my enemies didn’t mean they weren’t coming.
I had to stay sharp.
My grip tightened on the wheel as I navigated forward. A detour sign loomed ahead, pulling me off course.
"Ritchie, there’s a detour—it’s taking me thirty minutes out of the way. Send a helicopter. I need to get the fuck out of here.”
Two massive orange-and-white barricades blocked the road.
“Fuck this,” I growled, throwing the SUV into reverse.
I’d cut through an alley. Find another way.
Before I could back out, two construction workers—orange vests, steel-toed boots—stepped onto the pavement. They moved fast, dragging another set of barricades across the road I’d just exited.
Trapping me in.
My jaw clenched. My foot hovered over the gas pedal.
I could ram through.
No—I needed a better plan.
I threw the SUV into neutral, letting it roll forward as I climbed into the backseat. My weapons bag sat where I left it, heavy and familiar. The vehicle rocked slightly as I moved, but I adjusted, swaying with it.
Once I had my gear, I slid back into the driver’s seat and straightened the wheel.
“Ritchie, they’ve boxed me in.”
“What the fuck?” he snapped. “I’m on my way.”
“You won’t make it in time.” My voice was steady. “Tell Bianca I love her. I’ll take as many of these bastards down with me.”
A deep rumble vibrated through the ground.
Then I saw it.
A tank rolled to a stop on the other side of the barricades.
My stomach turned to stone.
In my earpiece, Ritchie’s voice erupted into a frantic roar. “No!”
I moved quickly, pulling on my combat gear. The SUV was my daily ride—I kept my gear inside for a reason. You never knew when you’d need it.
And right now, I needed it.
“You better believe I’m taking Mavin with me,” I muttered darkly, securing my vest.
A voice blasted through a bullhorn, cold and mocking.
"Get the fuck out of the truck, Catch."
Mavin.
“Ritchie,” I said, my voice even. “Have Nick send men to Baltimore.”
“I’m here, cousin,” Nick's voice came through clearly. “I’m on a helicopter now. I’ll get to that bastard.”
My eyes squeezed shut briefly. “Thank you.”
“Catch!” Her sweet voice came over the earpiece.
Soft. Desperate.
My throat tightened. “Bombshell?”
“Don’t you fucking leave me,” she sobbed.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll do everything I can to survive.” A beat of silence. Then, my voice came through softer—raw—“Take care of our child. I love you.”
“No, Catch! No—” Her cry fractured in my ears.
“Get her off the line,” I ordered.
Rémy’s voice came through next, pleading. “Hang in there, Catch.”
Anger and determination fuel me as I load up with four holstered Glocks and make sure my thermal goggles and combat helmet are securely in place.
Time to move.
I pushed the door open.
The streetlights cast a soft glow on the surrounding buildings and the street. The men who had set the trap stood near the barricades, rifles at the ready.
I didn’t need to look up to know snipers were positioned on the rooftops of the ancient brick warehouse buildings on either side of the street., waiting.
Watching.
I was ready for war.
With a steady hand, I peered through the scope of my sniper rifle as I stepped out of the SUV.
“Mavin!” I called out, my voice slicing through the tension.
A sneer crackled through the bullhorn. “What the fuck do you want, you weak piece of shit?”
I scanned left—rifle aimed at the men flanking me. Then up—rooftop snipers in position.
A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. “What makes me weak, Mavin? The fact that I didn’t want to join your family?”
“Yes,” he spat.
Coward. Hiding behind the steel walls of his tank.
I tuned out Ritchie and the others, locking in on my surroundings.
“You thought you could use my family to line your pockets,” I continued, voice steady. “Thought you’d get richer off the backs of the Pituccos.”
Mavin’s voice turned sharp. “You motherfucker—”
A shot rang out. A bullet struck my leg. The armor held.
“You think my family built our name by working with scum who don’t give a damn about women and children?” I bit out.
“That’s a Pitucco flaw I plan to fix.”
“My family would never stand for that.”
Mavin’s voice took on a sickening edge. “You will marry my sister. That’s what my father wants.”
I laughed. Cold. Deadly. “Guess you forgot to mention—I’m already married.”
“Oh, he knows,” Mavin said, smug. “Said it’s a minor thing. She’ll be dead in... oh, fifteen minutes.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?” My voice ripped through the air. “No—”
“Your castle’s surrounded,” Mavin taunted. “It’ll explode soon.”
He wanted me distracted. Wanted me stepping right into his crosshairs.
Just because his father planned for me to marry Melina didn’t mean they wouldn’t wound me or beat the shit out of me first.
My chest rose and fell as I tried to calm down. My wife’s face flashed before my eyes.
Bianca.
But then all I could see was fucking red.
“Ah,” I roared as I aimed upward.
Pip
Pip
Pip
Pip
The snipers on the roof dropped to the pavement with sickening thuds.
Bullets slammed into my side. The armor held—barely. I shifted, taking out the two bastards to my left.
Pip
Pip
Only fucking head shots.
The roar of a helicopter thundered above. Bullets rained from the rooftop beside Mavin. My SUV’s windows shattered.
“Get down!” Ritchie barked in my ear.
I dropped into a crouch just as the ground rocked with an explosion. Gunfire tore through the air.
A firm grip landed on my shoulder.
“I’m here, cousin,” Ritchie said, his voice thick with emotion. “Let’s end these motherfuckers.”
I met his gaze. A grin curled my lips.
“Yeah. Let’s.”
I flattened onto my stomach, angling my rifle beneath the SUV door. Ritchie crouched beside me, his AR-fifteen aimed at our enemies from the side of the door.
"You don't mess with the Pituccos," I shouted as we both fired our weapons towards the tank.
Amidst all the chaos and devastation around us, I didn't have time to process everything happening. The grenade Ritchie threw and the missile fired by the helicopter had done some major damage.
The tank flipped into a smoking crater.
The air reeked of gunpowder and burning metal.
The sound of the tank firing rounds at the SUV had us running for cover.
A thick cloud of black smoke rose into the sky.
Our men swarmed in, clearing the rooftops.
A second missile struck the tank barrel.
Silence.
I aimed my rifle as I limped toward the wreckage.
“Mavin!” My voice was raw, laced with fury. “Come out!”
A ragged cough. “Fuck you, Catch.”
I smirked. “Stay in there, then. I’ll have the chopper drop another missile. Your father won’t even recognize his precious son.”
Silence. Then—the hatch creaked open.
Mavin tumbled into the crater.
I swung the strap of my rifle until it rested against my back. Grabbing his bulletproof vest, I yanked him up and slammed my fist into his face.
Once.
Twice.
Blood spattered onto my gloves.
“You threatened my wife,” I seethed.
He flashed a bloody, toothy defiant smirk. “She’s already dead.”
I pounded my fist into his face again. “I don’t play well when it comes to my wife. You’ll just have to learn the hard way,” I laughed maniacally.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER , I tossed Mavin onto the cold concrete floor of my warehouse in Elizabeth. He hit the ground hard, groaning as the zip ties cut into his wrists and ankles.
“Catch, come in,” Nick’s voice came through my earpiece.
“Go ahead.”
“I have something to show you.”
Boulder stepped forward, placing a laptop on the stainless-steel table in front of me. He tapped a few buttons and Roberto Massa’s battered face filled the frame. He knelt in the center of his office, his skin mottled with bruises—red, purple, swollen.
I turned the laptop so Mavin could see. His one good eye went wide with panic.
“What? No!” He thrashed, struggling to sit up. The zip ties held him firm.
Nick stepped into view, his Glock pressed against the back of Roberto’s skull.
“Look at the camera, asshole,” he ordered.
Roberto lifted his head, breathing heavy.
“You don’t fuck with the Pituccos,” Nick said, voice sharp as a blade.
“And you sure as hell don’t fuck with the Espositos,” I added.
Mavin spat curses at me, his voice laced with desperation.
Roberto swallowed hard, lifting his chin. “I love you, son.”
I had to give it to the old man—he wasn’t going down like a coward.
Nick smirked, pulling the Glock back. “On second thought, I’ve got one more surprise.”
A sharp knock at the back door. Romeo darted over, yanking it open.
Cylinder walked in, gripping someone by the arm. A burlap sack covered their head.
“On your knees,” he ordered, shoving them onto the plastic-lined floor.
The person struggled, hands bound behind their back. Cylinder ripped the sack away.
Melina.
Mavin’s face twisted in rage. “You said you don’t kill women and children!” he barked, shifting to his knees beside her.
I ignored him, my eyes locked on Roberto.
“Both of your children get to watch you die,” I said coldly.
“No!” Roberto’s broken voice filled the warehouse.
“You thought you could force the Pituccos and the Massas into becoming one family?” I sneered. “Fuck no.”
"Papa," Melina cried out, tears streaming down her face as she watched her father's imminent death.
Nick turned to Beauvo. “Hand me that.”
Beauvo stepped out of view, then returned. He placed something heavy in Nick’s gloved hand. A hammer.
“Oh, you didn’t think we’d let you off that easy, did you?” Nick taunted, grinning sadistically. We love blood.” He let out a low chuckle.
Laughter rippled through the warehouse—dark, merciless.
Nick lifted the hammer.
“Goodbye, bitch.”
Crack.
“Papa! Papa!” Melina’s screams echoed as the hammer came down on her father’s head again. And again.
When the gory work was done, I turned to her, my expression stone-cold. “All you had to do was find another man to marry and leave me the fuck alone.”
Tears streaked down her face, but she managed to lift her chin defiantly. “Fuck you,” she spat.
The glob of spit landed on my combat uniform.
A slow, deliberate silence filled the room.
Then—Bianca stepped beside me.
“You just spit on the wrong woman’s husband.”