78. Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Mateo
T he night air is crisp against my skin when I leave Angelo’s house. I straddle my Harley, feeling stronger, more in control than I ever have.
Antonio has to be dealt with. Tonight, before he fucks anything else up.
I roll my shoulders, exhaling slow and even.
I should call Rom. It would be smart to have backup getting into Antonio’s place. But if I can’t handle one man on my own, I don’t deserve to be Don.
A leader doesn’t shirk responsibility. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate. He faces the threats head-on and eliminates them. That was Tiero’s way, and he excelled at it.
So I grip the handlebars, flexing my fingers once before twisting the throttle. The growl of the engine mirrors the fire in my chest.
It’s time.
Antonio won’t see me coming. Though on this bike, he might hear me.
I drive to my storage shed on the outskirts of Rome. It’s more than a secret parking spot for my Fiat; it’s a gateway to the dark web. Behind a false wall, I’ve set up a high-tech hub, discreet but perfect for what I need.
I power up my computer, multiple screens flickering to life as I bring up the architectural drawings for Antonio’s house in Parioli.
This is the kind of business I prefer, clean, precise, and far from the chaos of street-level dealings. Antonio always liked to joke about me not wanting to get my hands dirty. Well, tonight, my hands and everything else will be completely involved in his demise.
I soon find exactly what I need. I pore over the plans, committing every crucial detail to memory. The element of surprise is on my side, as is the fact that I’ll be going solo. It might just make things easier.
I gather the necessary equipment and pack it neatly into a black duffel bag. Then, I change out of the suit I’ve been wearing all day and slip into black combat gear. It’s a thermal-blocking fabric with adaptive camouflage, and an infrared-absorbing coating, all designed to thwart night vision and thermal imaging. I tuck a balaclava in the same material into my pants pocket for later.
The beauty of this secluded location is that no one will hear a thing. Even if there were neighbors, this place is soundproofed. I cover a far corner with plastic sheeting, knowing I’ll be making a mess later. Cleanup will be quick and easy. No need for the cleaning crew this time.
One last check. Everything’s in place.
I grab the duffel bag, heading for my black Porsche Taycan Turbo S. It’s a high-performance sports sedan with an electric motor that doesn’t announce my arrival. At low speeds, it’s as silent as a shadow, but when I need it, it accelerates from zero to sixty miles per hour in about two point four seconds. Perfect for a job like this.
I double-check my guns, making sure they’re loaded and I have plenty of ammunition. Satisfied, I start the engine.
As I drive through the night, I go over my plan again and again. I’m calm now, my mind sharp and locked onto what needs to be done.
Antonio’s neighborhood is quiet. I pass his vast estate and park around the corner, hidden beneath the shadow of the trees. Before stepping out, I pull on my balaclava, slip on night vision glasses, and check that my gloves cover every inch of skin. Dressed in stealth black from head to toe, I should be nearly invisible in the dark.
The night is overcast, shrouding the world in dull darkness, with no moonlight to give me away. Everything is falling perfectly into place.
I pull a small signal scrambler from my vest and switch it on. It pulses silently, jamming the security cameras just enough to feed them looping still frames. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that will alert the guards, until it’s too late.
With practiced ease, I scale the outer wall, my gloved hands finding grip on the rough stone. At the top, I crouch low and listen. The estate is quiet. Everyone is asleep except for the guards on duty.
I spot one of them as he makes his way toward the house. I wait, steadying my breath, then squeeze the trigger the moment he steps into range. The silenced shot drops him instantly, and he collapses to the ground without a sound. Approaching quickly, I drag the body into the shadows and move on.
Every so often, I encounter another patrol. Each time, I take them out with precision. One shot, one body. No alarms. No chance for them to call for backup.
Reaching the house, I quickly locate the ventilation system. From my pack, I pull a small gas canister and tripod, placing it in front of the intake vent. The knockout agent hisses as it’s released, filling the mansion with an invisible fog. Within minutes, every living soul inside will be unconscious.
I pull my gas mask over my face and step inside. The house is eerily silent, bodies slumped where they stood moments ago. No resistance. No struggle. Clean.
When I reach Antonio’s bedroom on the second floor, I find him sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. But he’s not alone.
There’s a girl beside him, barely older than Mariella. A wave of disgust rolls through me. His disloyalty to his wife is one thing. But this? Hooking up with someone the same age as his daughter?
I clench my jaw, shoving the rage deep down. There’s no time for emotions. Not yet.
I grip Antonio’s unconscious body and haul the sack of shit over my shoulder. He’s dead weight, but I’ve carried worse. Then I spot a serving trolley in the corner. Looks like the turd and his girlfriend treated themselves to dinner in bed. His last supper.
I swipe the dishes off the trolley and lay him across it. Taking the lift to the ground floor, I move quickly to get outside. But before I leave, I swap the gas canister for something lethal. I can’t assume his soldiers’ loyalty, not when they might come looking for him.
With one last look at the house, I dump Antonio in the trunk, get behind the wheel, and drive off.
Back at my hideout, I drag Antonio’s naked, limp body inside and tie him to a chair.
I change into something more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to ruin my combat gear with the traitor’s blood.
By the time I return, Antonio stirs, his head lolling forward with a groan.
“Rise and shine,” I cajole, arms crossed as I watch him regain consciousness.
The gas is wearing off, but the zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles aren’t going anywhere. His head lifts sluggishly, eyes squinting against the dim light as he surveys his surroundings, his eyes landing on me.
Recognition dawns, then a smirk spreads across his face.
“Ah, Mateo,” he drawls, his voice hoarse but thick with arrogance. “Should’ve known you’d be behind this dramatic little setup.”
I crouch in front of him, studying the bruises already forming on his jaw from when I hauled him into the trunk.
“Dramatic?” I scoff. “Antonio, please. This is efficient. Something you always mocked me for, if I recall correctly.”
His gaze sharpens as he tugs against his restraints, testing their strength. Futile. Expected.
“The pretty playboy afraid to get his hands dirty,” he taunts.
“I get why you’d think that.” I tilt my head. “But tonight? I don’t mind getting a little blood on my hands.”
His smirk falters, but only slightly. Then he sneers. “So she told you, did she? Stupid girl.”
My fist flies before I even think about it. His head snaps back, blood trickling from his split lip.
“No one insults my fiancée.”
Antonio lets out a low chuckle, licking at the blood. “I’m surprised she still is.”
He doesn’t even bother denying his betrayal. Why would he? What would be the point?
I pace in front of him. “Your family doesn’t deserve to die for your sins. The naked girl in your bed tonight? Just another sign they mean nothing to you. The threat of wiping out an entire family only works as a deterrent when the bastard actually values them.”
Antonio laughs, shaking his head. “Save me the speech, Mateo. You want something. So get on with it.”
I stop and face him, arms still crossed. “I know the truth already, Antonio, but I want to hear it from your traitorous mouth.”
He sniffs, wincing slightly as he shifts in the chair.
“Which particular part?” His gaze locks onto mine, and then that sadistic grin spreads across his battered face. “The one where I shot your brother?”
Rage flares white-hot in my chest, but I inhale deeply, forcing it down. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
“Why, Antonio?” My voice is steady, controlled. “You were a high-ranking capo, set to become the next consigliere. You had power. Why so greedy?”
He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as much as his restraints allow. His eyes gleam in the dim light, always calculating, always looking for an angle.
“Power?” He scoffs. “Really. I’ve been nothing but your lackey. That wouldn’t have changed even if I became consigliere.”
He spits out blood, the dark stain splattering onto the plastic-covered floor.
“And you call me greedy?” His lips curl as he tilts his head. “You were handed everything. The De Marco legacy, the name, the power. Gualtiero and you walked into this world already crowned.” Contempt drips from his words. “Me? I had to fight for every scrap.”
I arch a brow. “You weren’t exactly scrubbing floors, Antonio.”
His sneer deepens. “No, but I wasn’t sitting at the head of the table either. No matter how much blood I spilled for you, no matter how many deals I brokered, I was always just another soldier waiting for a promotion.”
I shake my head. “That’s the game. And you made an art of it. Look where it got you. You have more money than you know what to do with.”
Antonio barks out a laugh. “Spare me the fairytale, Mateo. Money can’t buy authority. And that’s what I want.” He jerks his chin toward me, nostrils flaring. “You and your brother were born with a silver knife in your hand and a kingdom at your feet. And you expect me to be content with crumbs?”
“Crumbs?” I grit out. “I don’t think we’ll agree on that. So let’s move on, shall we?”
My voice is edged with ice as I ask, “Who are you working with?”