Chapter 2 Enrico
ENRICO
For years I’d waited patiently for her because one day she’d be the perfect wife and leverage.
But the truth was simple. I wanted her. And wanting something that pure was a dangerous habit to keep.
Especially in my world. Could I live with myself knowing if I claimed her, Mia’s life would be in danger for the entirety of our marriage?
A man like me didn’t focus on his own needs. The family business always came first, but the moment my eyes laid on Mia, something snapped. She was going to be mine. The only woman that would ever sleep in the same bed as me. Her or no one.
But it’d been five years. I was running out of patience. No other woman made me feral and believe me I’d tried to find one. Hell, I’d tried to get her out of my head, but no matter what I did, she held residence there.
I waited around finishing one last drink after the Moretti’s left. Honestly, the only reason I came tonight was to see her, but I had plenty of things to do—business to handle, debts to collect, an empire that never slept. So, I departed the reception and waited for my car to be brought around.
“Here you are, sir.”
I slid inside and took off. On my way over, my mind went back to how wonderful her body curved against mine while she was in my arms, even if just for a couple of minutes tonight. She could play hard to get, but eventually she’d be my wife. I’d make sure of it.
When I reached the warehouse, outside its single flickering bulb cut through the dark like a warning.
Tonight needed to go perfectly, but my brother Marco set this meeting up.
Sometimes he could be a loose cannon, so I had to keep my eye on him.
My father was a brutal man, and my brother took after him more than I did.
“Let me know when they arrive.” The guard straightened as I approached, stepping aside without a word. “Eyes on a swivel.”
Inside, Marco stood near a tower of crates, posture coiled. He gestured toward the shipment. “This isn’t just guns and ammo. There’s something else here—something that could tip the balance.”
I studied him. Should I be worried he’d gone rogue? “How big?”
“If we play it right, no one touches us.”
Marco had it in his head that if we became so powerful, the other families would have to bow to us. Which in theory was true, but we’d have to snuff out all their business to do that, which would cause an all out war.
“Untouchable is a dangerous word.” I moved closer, eyes scanning the rows of crates. “We can’t afford mistakes. Not tonight.”
“Already handled,” Marco replied. “Security’s doubled. No one gets in or out without my call.”
The ground trembled under the growl of approaching engines. Marco’s gaze met mine.
“Showtime.”
We walked toward the front of the warehouse, but then gunfire split the night and our guy at the door fell to the ground. A red puddle around him. So much for this being a simple business deal.
“What the fuck? I thought they were here to buy?” I ducked behind a stack of crates, dragging Marco down with me.
I leaned out and fired twice. The first shot went wide, the second caught between the eyes.
He dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
Another flash flared at the far end of the loading bay.
We moved as one—years of training written into muscle memory. Cover. Flank. Advance. My father made sure to prepare us for situations like this.
“Don’t fucking let them get away!” I barked.
A memory flashed—my father shouting those same words years ago over the body of a man who’d betrayed him.
Every war I’d ever fought started like this: chaos, smoke, betrayal.
The Di Fiore legacy wasn’t a family name—it was a sentence.
I’d been killing since I was sixteen, and even now, when I wanted something different, but peace never came without a price.
I slid across the floor, shoulder brushing rough concrete, fired twice. Two silhouettes folded backward. Another charged from behind a pallet, screaming. I pivoted, dropped my stance, fired once. Clean recoil. Final.
Marco shouted something and then a second volley tore through the crates beside me, shredding wood. I rolled behind a forklift and reloaded.
“I’ve got right!”
I peeked, squeezed off another round. The target fell, twisting into the shadow of a forklift tire.
“Enrico!” Marco’s voice carried over the chaos. “They’re herding us!”
He was right. Whoever they were, they weren’t amateurs. They wanted us cornered.
A cold thought sliced through the noise: Mia.
If this was a setup then they might go after her too. First rule of my world: always go after the people they love to hit them where it hurts.
Marco stepped into view, fired and took out two men trying to flank from the left bay door.
“Status?” I called.
Marco’s silhouette moved through the haze. “Clear. For now.”
The warehouse was a wreck—crates torn apart, a forklift half-tilted, bullet casings glittering like brass confetti across the floor.
The weight of every kill pressed in on me. The noise in my head wouldn’t stop. This had shaped me—this reflex, this hunger, this curse.
I pulled out my phone with hands still shaking from adrenaline. Signal dead.
“She’ll be fine,” Marco said, reading my silence.
I holstered my weapon, stepped over the nearest body, and glanced toward the bay doors that stood half open to the night.
“Some escaped,” I muttered. Tire tracks scarred the dirt near the loading bay.
Marco swore under his breath. “Then we hunt them.”
My gaze swept the debris until movement—two men bound against the far wall. I crossed the floor, my footsteps loud in the settling quiet. “Let’s find out who sent them.”
He hauled one upright by the collar. “Who are you working for?”
Silence.
I drew my knife, its edge catching the fractured light. “Perhaps you didn’t hear my brother. We can make this easy—or we can make it excruciating.”
The man flinched. “Okay! Okay! I don’t know who’s at the top!”
Marco’s voice was a growl. “Names.”
“Russo. Name’s Russo. Old foundry on the west side. Eagle graffiti.”
I let the word settle. “Russo.” A thread to pull.
Relief flickered across his face—mistaken, fleeting.
“Thank you.” Then I raised my gun. Two shots. Two bodies. Mercy was a language I’d forgotten long ago.
“Clean.” Marco said, sliding his weapon into its holster. “Russo thinks he can outplay us. Use our streets against us.”
“Then Russo’s already dead,” I said. “We hit the foundry tonight. No hesitation.”
He nodded, anger flaring like a struck match. “They’ll learn what happens when they cross the Di Fiore family.”
“Gather the men. Only the ones we trust.”
“Trust,” Marco muttered. “A rare commodity.”
“That’s why we survived.”
Justice in my world came in blood. Russo had made his move and now it was ours.