Chapter 3
The Ambush
The morning sun bathed the villa’s gardens in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the immaculate stone paths. The air was fresh, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and roses, with a cool breeze rustling the leaves of the neatly trimmed hedges. Birds chirped lazily in the distance, unbothered by the tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break.
The villa, a symbol of wealth and untouchable power, stood in stark contrast to the undercurrent of danger that pulsed through the grounds. This was a place that had seen generations of family empires built and shattered, and today, it would play host to a gathering of the most notorious crime families on the island.
Matteo Moretti adjusted his suit jacket with practiced nonchalance, the action a reflex after years of maintaining composure in high-stakes situations. His expression was calm, but his mind was sharp, alert, on edge, even. Every step he took on the perfectly paved path was calculated, his eyes scanning the grounds as they moved toward the villa.
The presence of Don Vittorio’s guards on either side was a reminder that this wasn’t a casual meeting. There was a reason they had been summoned early, and it was one Matteo couldn’t quite place, but he felt it gnawing at him. Don Vittorio didn’t send for anyone without purpose, and when the old Don called, you responded. There was no question.
Beside him, Aldo De Luca walked with an ease that didn't betray his calculating mind. He had his hands casually tucked in his pockets, his long stride unhurried, but his sharp gaze swept over every corner of the estate, taking in the surroundings like a predator scanning for prey. The faintest hint of a smirk danced on his lips, as though he were in control of the situation, despite not knowing what lay ahead. It was one of the things that made Aldo so dangerous; his ability to mask his intentions, to appear unfazed no matter the storm brewing around him.
"Any idea what this is about?" Aldo asked, his tone light but carrying an edge of suspicion beneath it. His eyes flicked to Matteo briefly, as if expecting an answer, or at least some insight into what was happening.
Matteo’s lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced sideways at Aldo. He didn’t trust the man completely, not yet. They had shared more than a few moments of tension and unexpected camaraderie, but that didn’t erase the years of rivalry and the weight of history between them. Despite their newfound... understanding, Matteo remained wary, and he wasn’t about to give Aldo any ammunition to use against him.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied in a low voice, his tone carefully neutral. His instincts, honed over years of navigating the cutthroat world of organized crime, screamed that something wasn’t right. The unease that had settled in his gut since the moment the invitation had arrived hadn’t let up, and he wasn’t about to ignore it now. "But Vittorio doesn’t do anything without a reason. Stay sharp."
Aldo’s gaze sharpened, his lips pressing into a thin line, and Matteo could see the calculation in his eyes. The De Luca family was known for its ruthlessness, and Aldo, in particular, was a master at reading people, at anticipating their moves. Matteo knew that the younger De Luca had probably sensed something was off long before they had even been summoned, but as usual, the man kept his cards close to the chest.
As they walked deeper into the villa’s grounds, the grandeur of the place became almost oppressive. The towering columns, the sweeping staircases, the ornate fountains; all of it screamed power. But Matteo knew better than to be distracted by luxury. It wasn’t wealth that made a family dangerous; it was the ability to control, to manipulate, to make people fear you without lifting a finger.
Don Vittorio had that in spades. Matteo had learned long ago that beneath the Old Don’s benign exterior lay a mind as sharp and deadly as a blade.
They were halfway through the garden, the white marble statues and stone fountains providing an odd sense of peace, when the first shot rang out. It was sudden, deafening. The sound tore through the air like an explosion, shattering the calm of the morning.
The entire villa erupted into chaos.
Screams rang out from the main courtyard as gunmen stormed the grounds, their weapons spitting fire in every direction. Guests scrambled for cover, some drawing their own weapons while others fell where they stood, caught in the ambush. The tranquil beauty of the Sicilian retreat was instantly transformed into a battleground, the scent of gunpowder replacing that of flowers.
Matteo’s body went into autopilot. He dove behind a stone fountain, narrowly avoiding the first wave of gunfire. The bullets tore through the air with lethal intent, chipping away at the stone around him. Aldo was already in motion, his gun drawn, his expression cold as he took cover behind a nearby marble statue, his eyes calculating their next move.
“Looks like someone doesn’t want any of us leaving Sicily alive,” Aldo muttered, his voice low as he ejected the magazine from his gun and reloaded with practiced ease, his movements fluid and precise.
Matteo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. "Guess we’ll have to disappoint them." He peered around the fountain, his breath steady as he fired several well-aimed shots. His first round struck home, forcing one of the attackers to duck back into the shadows.
All around them, chaos reigned. Don Vittorio’s men fought back, returning fire from balconies and behind the lavish garden walls, but the attackers were too well-coordinated, too precise. This wasn’t a spontaneous act of violence, this was an execution, and no one at the gathering was being spared.
The masked assailants, armed to the teeth, poured onto the property with the precision of a well-coordinated strike team. There was no hesitation in their movements, no sign of indecision. These weren’t amateurs, they were professionals, and this wasn’t a random hit. Someone had planned this. And they’d clearly planned to make sure no one would walk away from it.
Matteo and Aldo exchanged a glance, silent and sharp. For a split second, it felt as if time had stopped. They were enemies, deeply so, but right now, that didn’t matter. In this moment, their survival depended on working together. A fragile understanding flickered between them, fleeting but undeniable.
“Cover me,” Aldo said, already moving, his gun snapping up as he darted from behind his cover, firing expertly at the attackers. His eyes never strayed from his target. Matteo gave a tight nod, instinctively calculating his next move. He fired again, each shot carefully placed, each burst of gunfire pushing the attackers back, keeping them at bay as Aldo advanced to a better position.
The garden had become a war zone. The bright, colorful flowers that had once adorned the scene were now trampled underfoot, the ground scarred by bullet holes. Matteo and Aldo moved with an eerie synchronization, their actions a silent, unspoken ballet of strategy and survival. They were opposites in every sense, Matteo, the meticulous planner, and Aldo, the instinctive predator, but in this fight, they found a strange kind of harmony.
All around them, familiar faces fell. Capos, soldiers, and underbosses who had ruled their territories with iron fists now lay motionless, their blood staining the pristine marble paths. Don Vittorio himself, flanked by his most trusted men, barked orders, his silver hair disheveled as he directed his forces to defend what was left of the villa.
Matteo spotted Russo jumping into a car, the tires screeching over the concrete as it sped away. He frowned, but didn’t have time to mull over it as another bullet wheezed a few inches past his ear.
“We can’t stay here,” Matteo said through clenched teeth, reloading as quickly as he could, his eyes scanning the chaos around them. "If we don’t move, they’ll pin us down and flank us."
Aldo’s eyes darted across the landscape, searching for an escape route. His lips curled into a tight smile. "There’s a gate to the east. If we can make it there, we can lose them in the streets."
Matteo didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
They moved swiftly, staying low, using the cover of the garden’s ornate structures to stay hidden. The air was thick with tension, the sound of gunfire constant, echoing in the open space. Every step they took, every turn they made, was a calculated risk, but they didn’t have the luxury of time. Their enemies were relentless, closing in with every second.
Suddenly, a figure lunged at Aldo, a knife raised high. The moment stretched for an eternity, and without thinking, Matteo’s gun roared. The man dropped to the ground; a bullet lodged in his chest. Aldo shot him a quick glance, nothing more than a brief acknowledgment of the saved life. No words. There was no time for pleasantries, no room for gratitude in this bloody dance.
They reached the gate. Aldo kicked it open with a practiced force, and the two of them spilled into the narrow streets of Palermo. The city was just waking up; empty, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind. The streets seemed to stretch endlessly before them, but they didn’t stop running, not until they were several blocks away, breathless and desperate.
Matteo leaned against a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. The adrenaline still buzzed in his veins, but his mind was already racing. “Who the hell were those guys?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Professional,” Aldo said, his tone flat as he scanned the street with a hawk-like precision. “Too well-organized to be local thugs. Someone hired them.”
“Bianchi? Russo? ” Matteo suggested, his eyes narrowing as the possibility flickered in his mind.
“Who knows, maybe” Aldo said, his voice grim. "Someone, who thought to kill all the flies with one hit, which they almost accomplished from what I could see."
Matteo’s laugh was humorless. “They sure the fuck did.”