Chapter 24
24
NICOLAS
I secure my holster, adjusting the straps over my shoulders as I take one last look in the mirror. My reflection stares back—cold, unreadable, focused. Ready. I’ve been on operations far more dangerous than this, but today, something else weighs heavy in my chest.
I turn to my wife.
Aria stands in our bedroom doorway, arms wrapped around her stomach as if trying to hold herself together. Her eyes are wide, uncertain.
Even though she hasn’t asked for details, I know she already understands what’s happening.
I take a slow breath. “It’s time.”
Her lips press together, fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. She nods once, but doesn’t move.
I step closer, closing the space between us. She tilts her head up, her eyes searching mine for something I don’t know how to give.
I’ve never had to reassure anyone that I’d come back. In my world, my men or I don’t expect to. That’s the life I’ve lived. The one I know.
But in Aria's eyes, I see she’s waiting for that assurance.
Her voice trembles when she finally speaks. “Promise me something.”
I cup her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek. I’m not used to it, but I’m willing to learn for her. “Anything.”
She swallows, takes a shaky breath. “Come home to me.”
I expected her to say something like this, but the words still hit me hard. A strange feeling spreads through my chest. She’s never let her guard down this much with me before, never admitted so openly that she wants me safe.
It gives me hope.
Hope that she cares for a man like me.
Hope that she could love a man like me.
I nod, keeping my voice steady. “I will.”
She exhales shakily, but the way she nibbles on her lower lip tells me she’s still worried. Her fingers curl into my shirt as she takes a deep breath.
“And… look after Marco.”
I stiffen.
Does she still care about that piece of shit?
I don’t answer immediately, and I know she notices.
She sighs. “Marco is reckless. Marco is selfish, and he cares about no one. But he’s still my brother,” she whispers. “He’s the only family I have left.”
I run a hand down her back, trying to comfort her. Marco doesn’t deserve a sister like Aria. He’s too damn lucky.
“I’ll do both things,” I say finally. “I’ll come back to you and keep him alive.”
The relief in her eyes makes something tighten in my chest.
She reaches up, her fingers sliding along my jaw before pulling me into a kiss. But it’s not just a kiss—I can feel it. It’s a plea, a cry.
Her tongue seeks mine, her hands roam my body with an urgency that makes my chest tighten. She’s memorizing me, like she’s afraid this might be the last time.
I grip her waist, pulling her flush against me, taking everything she gives. Her body trembles slightly, but she doesn’t stop. She kisses me like I’m already a ghost.
And I try to tell her—through my kiss—that I’m not. That this is real. That what we have is something I never thought I’d find, but now that I have, only the devil himself will keep me away from it.
I pull away first, pressing my forehead against hers. “I’m coming back.”
She nods, but her eyes stay closed for a few seconds. When she opens them again, I kiss her one last time before leaving—before I lose the will to go.
Outside, the cars are lined up, engine humming in the quiet. Matteo opens the door for me, and a strong sense of déjà vu washes over me as we drive.
By the time we reach the docks, the feeling is even stronger.
I step out, looking at the stretch of rusted shipping containers, their long shadows stretching under the dim streetlights.
The last time I was here… I lost good men.
My men move with precision, melting into the shadows and taking their position. Matteo steps beside after a few minutes, his voice low. “Everyone’s in place.”
Across the dock, Marco’s men crouch behind stacks of wooden pallets, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light. My men are stationed along the west side, weapons loaded, eyes trained on the empty stretch of road where our decoy shipment sits.
We don’t move. We wait.
The first sign of them is the sound of tires crunching over gravel. A black SUV rolls in, its engine a low, steady hum. Then another. And another.
Figures slip out of the vehicles, moving like shadows, silent and controlled. Their weapons are low but ready. They’re disciplined, careful—but something’s missing.
No leader.
I scan the group, my fingers twitching at my side. Whoever’s in charge isn’t here yet.
I lift a hand, signaling Marco’s men to hold. This needs to play out exactly as planned—no mistakes. No recklessness.
I’m not losing men tonight.
We wait for almost an hour before another SUV pulls in. This one is a deep midnight blue, so dark it almost looks black under the dim lights. If there’s one thing the bosses in my world love, it’s standing out—setting themselves apart from the men who do their dirty work.
The back door swings open.
Elena steps out.
She scans the area with sharp, assessing eyes. One of her men approaches, leans in, and murmurs something. Whatever he says makes her smile. Then she moves. Her coat flares behind her, her boots clicking against the pavement with each deliberate step. Every part of her screams confidence—arrogance. The belief that she’s untouchable.
My grip tightens around my gun.
She reaches the truck.
I give the signal.
Gunfire erupts. The night explodes into chaos. Bullets rip through the air, each shot echoing off the empty docks. Elena’s men scatter, caught between fighting and fleeing, but there’s nowhere to run.
Bodies drop faster than I can count. The sharp tang of gunpowder thickens the air, mixing with the stench of blood. Marco’s men close in from the east, cutting off their escape. Matteo’s men sweep in from the west. The trap is set.
I move through the chaos, my gun kicking in my hand as I drop one, then another, then another. No hesitation. No mercy. These bastards chose the wrong side.
I scan the battlefield, searching for the only target that matters. But instead, I spot James.
He moves fast, a shadow weaving through the carnage. His gun flares as he takes down two men in quick succession. Then, with practiced ease, he buries a knife into another one’s eye socket. But he doesn’t see the man behind him.
Gun raised.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
I lunge.
The bullet cuts through the air just as I slam into James, knocking him to the ground. It misses, burying itself into a crate instead. I roll, fire twice, and the man behind me drops—dead before he hits the ground.
James coughs, his eyes wide with shock. “Boss?—”
“Get the fuck up,” I snap, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet. Matteo rushes toward us, gun still raised, scanning for more threats.
But even as I keep moving, keep fighting, there’s something lighter in my chest.
I couldn’t save Ken. I couldn’t save Luca.
But I saved James.
Maybe, for once, I evened the score.
Then I see her.
Elena bolts toward the car, her coat billowing behind her as she tries to escape. Not a fucking chance. I close the distance in seconds, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her back. She thrashes, kicking and clawing, but I lock my arm around her, pressing my gun to her skull.
I fire a shot into the air. The sharp crack silences the fight.
One of her men hesitates for a split second. That’s all it takes. I put a bullet in the back of his head. He crumples, blood pooling beneath him. The rest of them freeze. One by one, weapons clatter to the ground.
Elena’s still struggling in my arms.
Her struggling pisses me off, so I slam the back of my gun against her face. She hisses, blood trickling from the fresh cut on her lip, but she stops fighting.
I should kill her right now. Put the barrel in her mouth and pull the trigger.
I can’t believe this bitch had the audacity to get close to Aria. To pretend to be her friend. The rage boils over, and I strike her again, harder this time. She winces, her cheek swelling, but I don’t give a fuck. I yank her head back, forcing her to watch as her men lower their weapons.
One by one, they raise their hands in surrender.
I meet Matteo’s gaze and nod. He gives the signal. And then, we execute every single one of them. No quick deaths. No mercy. Strangulation. Throats slit. Skulls shattered by bullets until their brains paint the pavement.
Tears streak down her face, and it almost amuses me that she actually cared about the men whose lives I just ended.
“I won’t tell you shit,” she spits, voice shaking
I smile coldly and shove her to the ground. “Then let’s make it interesting, shall we?”
Matteo moves quickly, retrieving a revolver and a single bullet from the car. I load the chamber, give it a slow spin, and snap it shut.
Elena’s breath hitches. “What… what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I ignore her, turning to Matteo instead. “Place your bet.”
He smirks. “Three shots.”
I hum thoughtfully. “I say two. A thousand bucks?”
Matteo nods. “Sounds fair, Boss.”
Elena’s expression crumbles, fresh terror clouding her teary eyes. “You’re sick. You’re fucking?—”
I press the gun harder against her temple.
Click.
Nothing.
She swallows hard, her whole body trembling so violently that the gravel beneath her knees crunches.
I spin the cylinder again.
Click.
Still nothing.
Matteo chuckles under his breath, and the other men watch eagerly, entertained by our little game.
I shake my head and glare at Elena. “You just cost me a thousand bucks, bitch.”
Her breath comes out in ragged gasps. I raise the gun once more, ready to pull the trigger again when she suddenly breaks.
“Wait!” she sobs. “I’ll talk.”
I lower the gun just slightly. “Then start.”
She exhales sharply, her voice shaking. “My family. The Caldarones. We were the first. The original settlers on this land. This territory—it should be ours.”
I don’t even blink. “That’s your excuse?”
She shifts, her eyes darting wildly. “We just wanted to take back what’s ours.”
Rage erupts inside me, white-hot and consuming. Because of that, they nearly killed my wife?
I grab her by the jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You will give me every name. Every location. Every Caldarone still breathing.”
She swallows hard. “I…”
I make a show of spinning the cylinder one last time.
He breath stutters, panic setting in. “I will… I swear.”
I release her, stepping back. “Smart choice.”
She crumples to the ground, and when I glance down, I see a dark stain spreading beneath her. She pissed herself.
I smirk. “Make sure she doesn’t get comfortable.”
Matteo grins, flexing his bloody knuckles as he hauls her up. “With pleasure.”
I glance around the dock as he leaves. The ground is slick with blood, bodies scattered like discarded playing cards. Some groan, barely clinging to life, but most are still. Silent. Dead.
A few weeks ago, it was my men who lay here. Men I have now avenged.
Matteo returns from wherever he took Elena, standing beside me as he wipes his bloody hands on a rag. His suit is ruined—splattered with red, torn at the sleeve—but he looks satisfied.
I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply as I watch my men work. The bodies are being dragged into piles, stripped of anything useful before being tossed into the waiting incinerator truck. The dock is stained dark, a graveyard of those who thought they could stand against me.
I exhale slowly. “We hit the safe houses next,” I say to Matteo. “Every single one. No survivors.”
Matteo nods. “And the businesses?”
“Take what’s profitable. Burn the rest.”
He grins. “Music to my ears.”
I take another drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke curl in the cold night air before glancing at the bodies one last time. “Good job. Matteo. Our men will rest easy in hell.”
A flicker of something—grief, maybe—crosses his face, but he buries it quickly with a curt nod.
I’m about to speak again when I hear it.
The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking close to my ear.
Slowly, I turn.
Marco stands behind me, gun raised. His dark suit is rumpled, splattered with blood. His lip is split, a fresh bruise darkening his jaw. He looks wild—desperate.
Matteo tenses beside me, already moving, but I lift a hand, stopping him.
Marco smirks, his grip tightening on the gun. “I bet you didn’t see this coming.”
I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “Look around, Marco.” My voice is calm. Amused, even. “Look at the men surrounding you.”
His confidence wavers. His eyes dart from face to face, scanning the crowd. His men are gone. Some lie among the dead, their bodies cooling in the dirt. The rest? They chose survival over loyalty.
I watch the moment realization hits him—the way his jaw clenches, the way his breath quickens. He was so caught up in his own game, he never even noticed he was walking straight into mine.
“What… what the fuck is going on?”
I take a slow, deliberate step forward. His grip on the gun tightens, knuckles turning white.
“You thought you were smart,” I say, my voice steady, unaffected by the weapon pointed at me. “That you could play me. That Aria was feeding you my secrets.” I shake my head, chuckling darkly. “The men you sent to those so called ‘secret shipment spots’ you thought I didn’t know about? They’re being intercepted as we speak.”
His eyes widen slightly, but the gun stays up. His breathing turns shallow, erratic.
“The shipments don’t even exist, Marco,” I continue. “Because the plans Aria gave you? They were fake.”
A flicker of panic flashes across his face. He glances around again, his mind working frantically, searching for a way out.
I tilt my head, watching as the truth sinks in. “And just to be clear,” I add, my voice dipping lower. “I’m the one holding your master plan. Not to other way around.”
His entire body locks up.
I take another slow step forward. “You should be more careful about who you fuck, Marco,” I smirk. “Your secretary has a very loose tongue.”
He flinches. “You’re lying.”
I arch a brow. “Am I?”
His face twists, contorting with rage and something else—something darker. Then I see it. The exact moment he realizes he’s been outplayed.
I lower my voice, letting the final nail sink into his coffin. “Your men are walking into a trap. Every safe house you have left is compromised. Every stash, every weapon cache—mine now. You have nothing left.”
His breath shudders. A single tear slips down his cheek.
Pathetic.
I almost tell him just how weak he is, how laughable this whole thing has been—but then I see it. Something shifts in his expression. The panic disappears. The trembling stops. His grip on the gun steadies.
My muscles tense.
I go still.
My father always told me—there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose. And right now, Marco isn’t just a desperate man backed into a corner. He’s something far worse. A man who has already lost everything.
I take a slow breath, raising my hands slightly. “Marco, listen to me?—”
“You think you’ve won,” he says, his voice eerily calm.
I watch him closely. He’s teetering on the edge, and one wrong word, one wrong move, will push him over.
“Drop the gun,” I say, my voice even.
He doesn’t move.
“You know how this ends,” I continue. “You put a bullet in my head, and ten go in yours.”
Marco chuckles, his fingers twitching around the gun. “But that way, we both end up with bullets in our heads, no?”
A bitter laugh escapes him. “I won’t go down alone.”
I see it in his eyes—he’s going to pull the trigger. In this final moment, he’s found the courage I never thought he had.
“Marco—”
A gunshot splits the night.
Everything stops.