Chapter 26
The Call
Matteo stood on the balcony of the Moretti mansion, the cold February air slashing at his skin like a thousand tiny needles. The city below him glittered in the night, its lights twinkling like stars, casting a warm, almost comforting glow. But it wasn’t comforting. Not tonight. Tonight, it felt distant, cold and indifferent, just like the thoughts swirling in his mind.
The cigarette between his fingers was already down to a stub, the faint glow of the ember casting a brief light on his face. He drew in one last drag, the smoke heavy in his lungs, and exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils dissolve into the dark sky. It should have been a moment of peace; if only his mind would let him rest.
But the situation they found themselves in wouldn’t let him go. It clawed at him from all angles, a never-ending reminder of what happened earlier that day. And the future? Well, the future was a fog of uncertainty, something he could barely see through, let alone navigate.
He was so lost in the murk of his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the vibration from his phone. At first, he thought it was a trick of the wind, but then it vibrated again, sharp and insistent. Matteo reached into his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled it out.
The screen flashed a hidden caller ID. His stomach lurched.
Just like before.
A low, cold dread unfurled in his chest, curling its icy fingers around his ribs. The last time this happened, when that voice called, things had spiraled out of control fast. People he cared about had been hurt. It had been a warning then. And now, it was back. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
His breath hitched, and for a split second, he almost didn’t answer. But he had no choice. Not now.
He pressed the phone to his ear, his pulse quickening. "Who is this?" His voice came out tighter than he intended, rough with the tension coiling through his body.
The silence on the other end dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Just as he was about to hang up, the voice finally spoke, low and distorted.
"No time for questions, Matteo. If you want to save him, you need to move."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart skipped, then raced, hammering in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as anger surged in his veins. "Save who?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
The response was a whisper, almost too soft to hear, but it was there; clear and devastating.
"Julian."
Julian .
The cigarette in his fingers dropped from his hand, hitting the stone balcony with a soft hiss as it extinguished. He barely noticed, his entire focus locked on the voice on the other end of the line.
"Where is he?" His voice was a low snarl now, all the hesitation gone, replaced by a gnawing urgency that clenched his gut.
The voice didn’t waste any more time. It rattled off an address; an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. A place Matteo knew all too well. He’d been there before, many years ago, back when things were simpler, or at least more straightforward. It was a place where business had always been conducted in the shadows; deals made in blood, alliances forged and broken with knives in the dark. A place where his father had been killed.
And the smell. The smell of old blood and unfinished business still clung to the place like a bad memory. Matteo could almost smell it now.
"You need to hurry," the voice urged, its tone sharp and urgent. "He doesn't have much time."
???
Enzo’s office was a tomb of silence, the kind of silence that pressed in on you, thick and suffocating, like it had weight. Every corner of the room seemed to hold its breath, as though the walls themselves were waiting for something, anything, to break the stillness. But there was no relief. Only the oppressive weight of his fury and fear that clung to him, seeping into his bones, settling in the pit of his stomach.
He sat at his desk, but it wasn’t the posture of a man in control. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles stark white from the tension. The fury coursing through him was palpable, an electric charge that had nowhere to go, nowhere to vent. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying, and failing, to force back the wave of panic that threatened to drown him.
The room was dim, the faint glow from the fireplace casting long, jagged shadows across the walls, making the space feel smaller, tighter, as if it were closing in around him. The fire flickered weakly, its warm orange light struggling against the encroaching darkness of the room and of his thoughts. It was a cruel irony that the flames were the only warmth in a place that felt so cold, so empty.
It hadn’t always been like this. Enzo’s office had once been a symbol of his power, a place where decisions were made, deals were struck, and enemies were crushed under the weight of his will. But tonight? Tonight, it was a battlefield.
The usually immaculate space was in disarray, the walls still adorned with their lavish paintings and dark wood paneling, but now there were signs of violence in every corner. Papers were scattered across the floor like broken promises, some torn and crumpled, others still with ink smeared across them in hasty scrawl. The chair across from his desk had been overturned, its legs bent at an unnatural angle. A glass of whiskey, his whiskey, lay shattered against the wall, the amber liquid still dripping down in slow, mournful streaks as it pooled on the floor.
Enzo barely noticed the chaos. His mind was a storm, thoughts swirling in a violent tempest that he could barely keep up with. Julian was gone. Taken. And he hadn’t been able to stop it.
The guilt gnawed at him, relentless and savage. He should have known. Should have seen the signs, should have trusted his instincts, should have, should have, protected him better. The thought of Julian, vulnerable, at the mercy of their enemies, filled him with a kind of helpless rage that burned hotter than any fire. He could almost feel Julian’s fear, hear his desperate pleas, see his bloodied face as though it were an image seared into his mind.
His hands trembled as he pressed them against the edge of the desk, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps, but the panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to breathe. Tried to steady himself. But how could he? How could he possibly keep it together when the weight of his failure was crushing him?
Then, the sound of his phone vibrating on the desk shattered the silence, the sharp buzz slicing through the air like a gunshot. Enzo’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing, the tension in his body coiling like a spring ready to snap. He reached for it, hands shaking, and as soon as the screen lit up, his heart stopped.
It was a picture.
Julian .
Enzo’s chest tightened painfully as his eyes locked on the image. Julian, his Julian, was tied to a chair, his body slumped forward in exhaustion or pain, or both. His face was bruised and bloodied, a darkening mark over his eye and a split lip. His shirt was torn, revealing the bruises and the cuts beneath. His arms were bound behind him, the ropes digging into his skin. The image was so raw, so utterly broken, that it felt like a physical blow to Enzo’s chest. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All he could see was Julian, hurt, alone, and it was his fault.
The message beneath the picture was short. Too short. Too simple.
“Tick tock, Moretti.”
The words felt like a taunt, a cruel countdown to Julian’s suffering. And as Enzo stared at the screen, his vision blurred, the edges of the world darkening as the weight of it all came crashing down. Julian was out there; hurt. Suffering. And Enzo hadn’t been fast enough. He hadn’t done enough.
His breath hitched, the panic bubbling up in his chest like an avalanche, threatening to drown him. His hand was trembling as he gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles threatening to snap under the force of his anger. The walls of the room seemed to close in around him, the heat of his fury clashing with the cold reality of the situation. He was failing. And he hated it.
Without thinking, Enzo slammed the phone down on the desk, the force of his anger cracking the screen. The sound was a violent crack , the phone shattering under his palm, the pieces scattering across the desk.
The room spun, his vision narrowing to the edges of the desk, the walls, the broken glass, and then, in a fit of rage, he stood abruptly. The chair he’d been sitting in crashed to the floor behind him with a deafening clatter, the sound reverberating through the stillness. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care.
In a blur of motion, his arm swept across the desk, sending papers flying, books toppling over the edge, pens rolling off to clatter uselessly on the floor. His pulse pounded in his ears as he grabbed the nearest object; a heavy crystal decanter. Without a second thought, he hurled it against the wall with a violent, guttural roar. The glass shattered upon impact, the amber liquid splattering across the wallpaper like blood, running down in rivulets, staining everything in its path. The room smelled of whiskey and anger, the air thick with it.
Enzo’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, the heat of his fury still burning through his veins. But it wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. He could feel the guilt crushing him, the fear for Julian searing into his chest like a brand. He was running out of time, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
"Goddammit," he muttered to himself, his voice raw with frustration, his hands clenched into fists again. He could hear the ticking clock in his mind. Time was running out.
“Enzo!”
The voice sliced through the chaos like a blade, sharp and urgent, pulling him from the grip of his rage. Enzo turned, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched at his sides, the violent storm inside him not yet quelled.
His wild, bloodshot eyes fixed on the doorway, where Matteo stood, framed in the threshold, his posture tense but purposeful. There was a flicker of concern in his expression, but it was quickly masked by the determination that burned beneath.
Matteo’s presence cut through the wreckage of the office, the remnants of shattered glass, overturned chairs, and scattered papers, like a momentary calm in the midst of a brewing tempest. His voice, steady despite the palpable tension, sliced through the air again.
“I have a lead,” Matteo said, his words carrying the weight of something significant, something Enzo couldn’t afford to ignore. “A possible location. I think that’s where they’re holding Julian.”
At the mention of Julian’s name, Enzo’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening, as if every nerve in his body had been ignited by the sheer desperation in Matteo’s tone. His hands still trembled, but now it was more from anticipation than rage. Julian.
“Where?” Enzo demanded, his voice raw, trembling slightly with a barely contained fury.
Matteo paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze flicking to the wreckage that had been Enzo’s office, then back to him. His eyes softened, just for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of the situation. "The old warehouse on the outskirts of the city," Matteo replied, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. "The one they killed dad in."
Enzo’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck straining as his thoughts raced, his mind pulling together the threads of the situation. Every possibility, every scenario, played out like a twisted version of the future. De Luca had crossed a line. And now, Enzo was going to make sure he paid for it.
“Gather the men,” Enzo growled, his voice low, dangerous. There was no trace of hesitation in him now. His hands gripped the edge of the desk with such force that his knuckles went white. “We’re going in.”
Matteo didn’t move immediately. He stood there; his eyes fixed on Enzo with an intensity that wasn’t just about the mission. Matteo’s gaze softened ever so slightly; his face etched with concern. The silence between them stretched, thick with the unspoken understanding that hung in the air like a heavy fog.
“Enzo…” Matteo began, his voice quiet but steady, the weight of his words settling between them like a challenge. “We’ll get him back. But you need to keep your head. Julian needs you focused.”
The mention of Julian’s name sent a jolt of agony through Enzo’s chest. His heart squeezed painfully, and for a fleeting second, the world seemed to blur. The image of Julian, bloodied, bruised, terrified, flashed behind his eyes, a nightmare he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried.
Enzo closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself to breathe, to push down the panic that was threatening to swallow him whole. Matteo was right. Julian needed him, and the last thing he could afford was to let the rage consume him. If he lost control now, they would all lose.
His voice came out rough, barely controlled. “I’m focused.” He opened his eyes, his gaze hardening with a renewed resolve. “But if he… if he…”
The words hung in the air, unfinished. They didn’t need to be said. The threat was clear in the dark depths of Enzo’s gaze; vengeance would be swift, and it would be unrelenting.
Matteo’s expression darkened, the concern giving way to something deeper, an understanding. He gave a short nod, his face grim but resolute. “We’ll get him back,” he said again, his voice quiet but fierce. “No matter what it takes.”
There was a moment of silence, and then, Enzo turned his back on Matteo, facing the wreckage of his office once more. His fingers gripped the edge of the desk tightly, his knuckles white with the effort. He could feel the cold surface beneath his hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. But his mind was focused on one thing: Julian. He could see him in his mind’s eye, could hear his voice in the distance, a whisper of hope amidst the terror. He couldn’t lose him, not now. Not ever.
Enzo exhaled sharply, the words escaping from his lips in a low, firm command. “Let’s move. We’re not wasting another second.”
Matteo didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall along with his voice shouting for Luca.
Enzo stood there for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. The stillness of the room pressed in on him, the silence louder now than ever. He closed his eyes again, steadying himself, forcing his mind into a singular, unyielding focus.
Julian .
The thought burned through him, sharp and unforgiving. He was going to get him back. No one, not De Luca, not anyone, was going to take Julian from him.
Enzo opened his eyes, his resolve as solid as stone. He would burn the world to the ground to get Julian back.
And he would make sure De Luca felt every ounce of that inferno.