Chapter 14
The Calm Before the Storm
In the next weeks, life settled into a strange rhythm. Julian would wake before dawn, leave the mansion, and throw himself into his work at the hospital. There, surrounded by sterile white walls and the steady beeping of monitors, he could almost pretend his life was normal. Almost.
Every evening, without fail, a sleek black car would be waiting for him outside the hospital entrance. Sometimes it was a different driver, sometimes it was Maurizio, still recovering but back at work, offering Julian a quiet nod of thanks. And sometimes, more often than Julian liked, Enzo was in the back seat, waiting.
Their conversations remained brief, clipped exchanges that barely scratched the surface of whatever had shifted between them that night after the attack. Enzo never pushed, never demanded anything from Julian beyond his presence in the mansion. But his eyes followed him, always watching, always assessing, and Julian could feel the weight of it every time they shared the same space.
The mansion, for all its opulence, still felt like a gilded cage. The guards stationed at every entrance, the constant sense of being watched; it was suffocating. But the strangest part was that Julian had stopped trying to fight it. He told himself it was because there was no point. That resisting would only make things harder. But deep down, some part of him wasn’t sure if that was the truth.
The quiet was unnerving. For weeks, there were no more ambushes, no gunfire in the streets, no bloody bodies brought to him in the middle of the night. But that only made Julian’s unease grow. He had learned enough about Enzo’s world to know that silence wasn’t safety. It was the deep inhale before the chaos. The calm before the storm.
And he wasn’t sure he was ready for what would come next.
???
Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the sun, casting deep shadows over the dark wood furniture and the sleek marble floors. The remnants of a wild night were scattered around; a half-empty glass on the nightstand, a discarded jacket draped over a chair, and the faintest echo of laughter still ringing in his ears.
It was early afternoon, but Matteo was still buried under the silk sheets of his massive bed, sprawled across the cool fabric in the dimly lit bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the lingering traces of whiskey from the night before.
Beside him, a man lay tangled in the sheets, his breathing slow and steady, his toned body half-hidden beneath the luxurious fabric. Matteo barely remembered his name. Lucian? Leo?
Not that it mattered. He had been a distraction, nothing more. The warmth of his presence barely registered as Matteo shifted, rubbing at his temples, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
A sharp vibration shattered the quiet, the harsh sound cutting through the silence like a knife. His phone buzzed insistently against the polished wood of the nightstand, rattling slightly with each pulse. Matteo groaned, shifting onto his side, his arm flopping out blindly until his fingers found the device. His head pounded in protest, a dull ache behind his eyes reminding him of just how much he had indulged the night before.
He squinted at the screen. An unknown number.
For a second, he considered ignoring it; probably some mistake or a call not meant for him. But something cold twisted in his gut, an instinct honed over years of knowing that silence could be more dangerous than noise.
He swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. "This better be good," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with sleep.
Silence.
Not the empty kind, but the weighted kind, thick with something unsaid. A pause just long enough to set his nerves on edge. Matteo sat up, the lethargy of sleep fading as tension slid down his spine.
His fingers curled tighter around the phone. "Who is this?"
A voice finally spoke; low, distorted, careful. "Watch your brothers."
The air in the room seemed to shift, the weight of those words pressing down like an invisible hand. Matteo’s jaw tightened. A trickle of unease slithered into his chest, coiling there like a snake ready to strike.
His tone sharpened, all traces of grogginess vanishing. "What the hell does that mean? Who are you?"
Nothing.
Then a quiet click, and the line went dead.
Matteo pulled the phone from his ear, staring at the darkened screen as if it might suddenly reveal the identity of the caller. No caller ID. No way to trace it. Just a voice, low, distorted, and dripping with malice, that had delivered a single, chilling message before the line went dead.
“Watch your brothers.”
A warning with no name, no face, just a whisper in the dark meant only for him.
His entire body tensed; every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands shook as he threw the sheets off and jumped out of bed, the rush of adrenaline forcing away the last remnants of sleep. The sudden movement jostled the man beside him awake, who blinked up at him in confusion, his dark hair mussed and his face still soft with sleep.
“What’s wrong?” the man mumbled, his voice thick and groggy.
Matteo ignored him, already dialing. His fingers fumbled over the screen, the tremors in his hands making it hard to press the right buttons. He called Luca first. The phone barely rang once before Luca’s voice came through, sharp and alert, as if he’d been waiting for the call.
“Where are you?” Matteo demanded, his voice tight, each word clipped and urgent.
“I’m in the house,” Luca answered immediately, his tone shifting from calm to wary. “Why? What’s going on?”
Matteo exhaled sharply, a rush of relief flooding him for the briefest moment. “Good.” He didn’t waste another second and ended the call before Luca could ask anything else. There was no time for explanations. Not yet.
He was already dialing again. This time, Enzo.
The call rang once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
His stomach dropped, a cold knot of dread tightening in his chest. He pulled the phone away, stared at the screen as if willing it to ring back, then tried again. Nothing.
“Fuck,” Matteo hissed under his breath, his voice low and strained. He tried to steady his breathing, but it was shallow, ragged, each inhale feeling like it wasn’t enough.
His heart slammed against his ribs like a drum, insistent and frantic, the sound of it roaring in his ears. He shoved a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he paced the room, his bare feet silent against the cold floor.
The man in the bed sat up now, fully awake, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Matteo, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
Matteo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, scenarios playing out in his head, each one worse than the last. Enzo wasn’t answering. Enzo always answered. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
The door burst open, and Luca strode in, his presence filling the room like a storm. He was already dressed, his jacket hanging open to reveal the holster strapped to his chest, his expression hard, his posture tense. He didn’t need to say anything; he had seen the look on Matteo’s face before. The look that meant trouble. The look that meant danger.
Luca was already in motion, crossing the room in three long strides and grabbing Matteo’s shoulder to steady him. “Breathe,” he ordered, his voice firm but calm. “Tell me everything.”
Matteo shook him off, his frustration boiling over. “Some bastard calls me, tells me to watch my brothers, then fucking hangs up. Now Enzo’s not answering.” His voice rose, sharp with frustration and fear. “Something’s wrong.”
Luca’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed the information. “Could be nothing,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe it.
Matteo scoffed, shoving a hand through his hair again. “Or it could be everything.”
A muscle in Luca’s jaw ticked, but he nodded, his mind already shifting into action. “We move now. Get dressed. We’ll find him.”
Matteo barely heard him. His hands trembled as he tried Enzo’s number one more time, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before pressing the call button. He held the phone to his ear, his breath catching as it rang.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing.
And that meant something was very, very wrong.
Luca was already moving, pulling a shirt from the closet and tossing it to Matteo. “Get dressed,” he repeated, his voice brooking no argument. “We’ll check the usual spots. Enzo’s not an idiot. If something’s going down, he’ll have left a trail.”
Matteo nodded, his movements jerky as he pulled the shirt on, his mind still racing. He grabbed his gun from the nightstand, checking the clip with practiced ease before shoving it into the waistband of his pants. His heart was still pounding, but the fear was starting to give way to something else; anger. Whoever had called him, whoever had threatened his brothers, they were going to regret it.
The man in the bed watched them, his eyes wide with fear. “Matteo…” he started, but Matteo cut him off with a sharp look.
“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and firm.
The man nodded, though he looked like he wanted to argue. Matteo didn’t wait for a response. He was already following Luca out the door, his mind focused on one thing: finding Enzo.
The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows stretching long and ominous as they moved through the house. Luca was already on the phone, barking orders to the men stationed around the property. Matteo barely registered the words, his thoughts consumed by the call, by the voice, by the silence on the other end of Enzo’s line.
They reached the front door, and Luca paused, turning to Matteo with a hard look. “We’ll find him,” he said, his voice steady. “But you need to keep your head. If this is a setup, we can’t afford to walk into it blind.”
Matteo nodded, though his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides. “I know. But if anything’s happened to him…”
“It won’t,” Luca interrupted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “We’ll find him.”
Matteo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to nod. Luca was right. They couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. But as they stepped out into the night, the cool air doing little to calm the fire burning in his chest, Matteo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
And he was going to find out what.