Chapter 9
Trust Betrayed
The air was thick with the scent of damp concrete and the faint metallic tang of blood as Aldo and Matteo slipped through the darkened alleyways of Naples. The city pulsed with life beyond their shadows, distant car horns, muffled conversations, the occasional bark of a stray dog, but here, in the quiet corridors of old stone and crumbling facades, danger felt close enough to taste.
Their task had been simple; break into Russo’s associate’s house, retrieve the documents, and get out. But Matteo had never trusted simplicity, not when it came to someone like Sofia Ricci.
The house was a modest, two-story structure tucked between aging buildings in a quiet part of the city, its exterior unassuming, but Matteo knew better than to take that at face value. They had timed their approach carefully; Russo’s associate was supposed to be out for the evening. Still, Matteo’s instincts screamed that something wasn’t right.
“You’re tense,” Aldo muttered under his breath as they moved toward the back entrance, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matteo shot him a sharp look. “And you’re too damn trusting.”
Aldo huffed, but there was no time to argue. Matteo picked the lock with practiced ease, his fingers steady despite the gnawing unease curling in his gut. The door creaked open slightly, and Matteo slipped inside first, gun drawn, senses sharp. The interior was dimly lit by the orange glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of cigar smoke and old wood. Dust motes swirled in the low light, undisturbed; no immediate signs of movement, but that didn’t mean they were alone.
Aldo moved first; his steps careful as he scanned the room before heading toward the office. The floorboards groaned under his weight, an unwelcome reminder of how exposed they were. A large wooden desk stood in the center, a heavy filing cabinet beside it. Papers were stacked haphazardly, cigarette ash scattered across some of them, but there was no sign of the documents they needed.
“It has to be here somewhere,” Aldo muttered, opening the cabinet drawers with growing frustration, the metal scraping against itself loud in the stillness.
Matteo remained by the door, gun tight in his grip, his pulse a steady thrum of unease. Every instinct he had was screaming for them to get out. Something was off, though he couldn’t yet put a name to it. The air felt too thick, the silence too expectant, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
A sound outside; soft, deliberate.
Matteo’s grip tightened. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. Someone was there.
“Aldo,” he hissed, barely moving his lips.
Aldo paused, looking up from the drawer. “What?”
The first shot rang out before he could voice his warning.
Glass shattered as bullets tore through the room. Matteo shoved Aldo down behind the desk, drawing his gun and firing blindly toward the source of the attack. Shadows moved outside the windows, the unmistakable outline of armed men.
“Sofia set us up,” Matteo snarled, his voice edged with fury. “I fucking knew it.”
Aldo didn’t argue. He was too busy pressing a hand against his side, where blood was already seeping through his shirt.
Matteo’s stomach dropped. “Shit.”
“Not that bad,” Aldo gritted out, his breath sharp. “Just focus.”
But Matteo could already see the way his movements were slowing, the slight slump of his shoulders. He didn’t have time to waste.
“Cover me,” Matteo ordered, then surged forward, unloading a hail of bullets to drive their attackers back. He reached Aldo in an instant, grabbing him and hauling him to his feet.
Aldo swayed, but Matteo’s grip was firm. “I can walk,” Aldo growled.
Matteo didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he threw Aldo’s arm over his shoulder and half-carried him toward the back exit.
Bullets slammed into the walls behind them as they stumbled into the alley. Matteo barely had time to react before another figure emerged from the shadows, gun raised. His own weapon was up in an instant, but before he could fire, the man dropped with a sharp gasp, Aldo’s knife buried in his throat.
Aldo exhaled heavily, his body sagging against Matteo. “Told you I could still fight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Matteo muttered, dragging them both forward. “Save it for when we’re not about to fucking die.”
They didn’t stop moving until they were several blocks away, ducking into an abandoned storefront. Matteo eased Aldo down onto the ground, his own chest heaving. He ripped Aldo’s jacket open, assessing the wound. It was bad, but not fatal, not if he acted fast.
Aldo winced but smirked through it. “You look worried.”
Matteo scowled. “Shut up.”
His hands moved quickly, tearing a strip from his own shirt to press against the wound. Aldo sucked in a breath, his fingers curling against Matteo’s arm, but he didn’t complain. Not out loud, anyway.
A beat of silence stretched between them, thick with exhaustion, adrenaline, and something heavier neither of them wanted to name.
Then Matteo spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “When I get my hands on Sofia, she’s going to wish she’d never met me.”
Aldo let out a rough chuckle, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “Get in line.”
The gunfire had barely stopped echoing in the streets when Matteo’s breath slowed, the harsh reality of their situation creeping in. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind the raw edges of panic and pain. He glanced down at Aldo, still leaning heavily on him, eyes flickering to the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage.
"You’re not gonna die on me, Aldo," Matteo growled, but there was a tremor in his voice that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Aldo's lip curled into a grim smile, though it was tinged with pain. "Good thing you’re so good at patching people up then."
Matteo grunted in response, but his hands remained steady as he tightened the cloth against Aldo’s side. His own breath came in shallow bursts, every movement filled with urgency. There was no time to dwell on the fact that they had just barely escaped death. Russo’s men wouldn’t stop coming for them, and Sofia? Sofia had sold them out for something he couldn’t even begin to understand.
Matteo pressed a hand to Aldo's shoulder, steadying him. "We’re getting out of this," he muttered. His jaw clenched. "No one leaves this city alive unless it’s us."
Aldo chuckled weakly; his voice thick with exhaustion. "If you keep talking like that, you might just convince me we’re gonna pull this off."
"We will," Matteo said with more conviction than he felt, scanning their surroundings.
"Stay put," Matteo ordered, his voice tight as he rummaged through his bag, pulling out a small first aid kit. He had no idea how much time they had before Russo’s men regrouped, or before they were both too drained to fight back.
"I’ll make her regret ever crossing me," Aldo growled, his fingers tightening into a fist as Matteo worked on his wound.
Matteo didn’t look up as he applied the final layer of bandages. "Well, I think I’ve earned a front-row seat for that little show."
Aldo’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile, but the cold rage simmering beneath the surface never quite left. He was used to betrayal, but this? This was personal.
"So, stay alive long enough for me to see it," Matteo muttered, standing up and glancing out the cracked window, his eyes scanning the street beyond.
Aldo leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. "I’ll make sure you get that chance."