Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
The air is thick with the scent of oil and metal. The weight of my gun feels natural in my grip, an extension of myself as I check the magazine for the third time. It’s full. It’s always full. But I check anyway.
Habit. Discipline. Readiness.
Around me, my men move in near silence. The only sounds are the soft clicks of safeties being checked, knives being adjusted, and magazines locking into place. There’s no wasted movement, no nervous chatter. Only focus. They know what’s coming.
The compound looms in the distance, dark and sprawling, a fortress built on my uncle’s paranoia. He knows I’m coming. He should. I want him to.
Dario crouches beside me, eyes sharp under the glow of the distant floodlights. “Scouts report minimal movement outside. Guards are posted, but not enough. Feels like a trap.”
“It is a trap.” My voice is calm. Because I don’t care.
I rise, slow and deliberate, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension winding through them. The adrenaline is already thrumming beneath my skin, cold and steady. I welcome it.
“Positions,” I murmur, and my men move like shadows, melting into the darkness, ready to strike.
I take one last breath, the night air cool against my face. Then I give the order.
“Move.”
The silence is wrong. Too wrong.
I move through the front gates with my men flanking me, weapons drawn, shadows stretching long under the moon’s cold glow. The air is thick with the scent of dust and gun oil, the crunch of our boots the only sound in the empty courtyard. Too empty.
I signal for a sweep. Clear.
The bastard’s gone.
A slow, insidious heat crawls up my spine. This isn’t a retreat. This is a setup.
I exhale sharply through my nose, forcing down the spark of frustration. My uncle is a snake, but he’s predictable. He wouldn’t leave his stronghold without a reason, and that reason just became obvious.
We were never hunting him.
I turn just as a sharp whistle cuts through the air. The telltale snap of safeties being released echoes from the darkness beyond the walls. My gut tightens.
“We’re surrounded,” Matthias’s voice is flat, but his grip tightens on his rifle.
I taste iron as my jaw clenches. The shadows beyond the compound shift, bodies moving into position, the gleam of rifle barrels catching the dim light. Dozens. Maybe more.
A slow clap rings out.
And then—his voice.
Smooth, smug, soaked in amusement. My uncle .
“Ah, Vitali… I was wondering when you’d come knocking.”
His voice slithers through the darkness, curling around my spine like a vise. My grip tightens on my gun, the weight of it grounding me. I don’t turn immediately. I let the silence stretch, let the tension coil. Let him think I’m unshaken.
Then, slowly, I pivot toward the sound.
My uncle stands just beyond the ring of men, flanked by his own. He’s dressed impeccably in a tailored suit and gold cufflinks, the picture of a man who doesn’t get his hands dirty. But I know better.
His smile is razor sharp. “I must say, nephew, I expected more from you.”
I don’t answer. Words are meaningless now. The only thing that matters is how many of his men I can drop before the first shot even rings out.
Dario shifts beside me, barely perceptible, waiting for my signal. The others are tense, ready. We’re outnumbered, but we’ve fought worse odds. We just need to wait for the explosion. The sign that my brothers have taken the back half of the compound.
My uncle takes a leisurely step forward, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I assume you came here thinking you had the upper hand.” He chuckles, the sound grating. “It’s a shame, really. You always were so sure of yourself.”
I let my lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “And yet, here you are, still talking instead of pulling the trigger.”
His gaze narrows just slightly. A crack in his composure. Good.
Then, as if I willed it, the first shot rings out .
Not from my side.
Not from his.
From somewhere else.
The compound erupts into chaos. The explosion we’ve been waiting for shakes the ground beneath us.
I don’t waste the moment.
“Now!” I bark, and my team moves.
Gunfire explodes into the night, and just like that, the trap he laid for me? It’s no longer his to control. The gunfire continues to rip through the night, muzzle flashes stroking the darkness in violent bursts. My men move like shadows, taking cover, returning fire, pushing forward. Bodies drop. Some theirs, some ours. My ears ring with the sharp, endless crack of shots, the dull thump of bullets tearing into flesh.
I don’t stop moving. I weave through the fray, taking shots where I can, my focus narrowed to a lethal point. My uncle is still standing. He ducks behind cover, barking orders, but I see it—the moment his confidence slips. He miscalculated.
And I’m about to make him regret it.
I push forward, keeping low, reloading in one fluid motion?—
Then I hear it.
A voice cuts through the gunfire, smooth, almost lazy, but laced with something venomous.
“Vitali.”
I freeze mid-step. My blood turns to ice.
I know that voice.
Slowly, I turn toward the sound.
A figure emerges from the shadows on the far side of the compound, stepping into the dim glow of a flickering overhead light. She’s dressed in black, her posture controlled, a pistol held loosely in one hand. My sister .
Antonia.
What is she doing here? A moment ago I was mocking my uncle for making a mistake, but I’m the one who has miscalculated, and now, it might cost me everything.
But that’s not what makes my chest go tight.
It’s who she has with her.
Gia.
My wife stands between two of Antonia’s men, her wrists bound, a thin line of blood trailing down her cheek. She meets my gaze, her breathing heavy, her body tense, but she’s not afraid.
Beside her, Adrian and Kenzo are held just as tightly, bruised but alive. Their eyes flick between Antonia and me, waiting, assessing.
The gunfire slows, fading into a tense silence as both sides take notice.
Antonia tilts her head, watching me. A ghost of a smirk plays at her lips.
“You’re making a mess, brother.” Her tone is almost amused as if we’re standing in a boardroom instead of a battlefield. She presses the muzzle of her gun against Gia’s temple, her finger lazy on the trigger. “Let’s not make it worse, hmm?”
Every muscle in my body goes tight. The compound, the fight, my uncle—none of it matters anymore.
I exhale slowly, forcing the rage down, keeping my voice calm. “You just made the worst mistake of your life.”
Antonia smirk deepens.
“We’ll see.”
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
Then laughter erupts.
Slow, indulgent, mocking.
My uncle steps forward from the cover he’d taken, hands clasped behind his back, eyes gleaming with amusement. He looks at Antonia, then at me, and shakes his head, chuckling like this is nothing more than an unfortunate misunderstanding at a family dinner.
“Well, well,” he muses, his voice rich with condescension. “I have to admit, this is entertaining.” His eyes flick to me, sharp and taunting. “Tell me, nephew, how does it feel to be betrayed? To have your own blood turn against you?”
I say nothing.
Because I don’t believe it.
Antonia may have Gia at gunpoint. She may have my men held hostage. She may have aligned herself with our uncle tonight.
But Antonia isn’t the type of person he is.
My uncle sighs, feigning disappointment. “Come now, Vitali. You should have seen this coming. She was always mine. You were just too blinded by your own arrogance to realize it.” He tuts, shaking his head. “Antonia was never meant to follow you. She belongs with me. Where the real power is.”
Antonia doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
But something shifts in her eyes, a flicker of something deep and violent beneath the surface.
And then she moves.
A single, sharp pull of the trigger.
The gunshot is deafening.
Gia screams.
For a fraction of a second, my uncle’s face is frozen in shock—his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide. A perfect red hole blooms in the center of his forehead. Then his body crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap .
Silence.
I stare at Antonia, my mind catching up to what just happened.
She killed him.
My men shift, uncertain, their weapons half-raised, waiting for a cue that no longer exists. Even Gia’s captors hesitate.
Antonia exhales slowly, lowering her gun. She doesn’t look at my uncle’s body. Just at me.
Then, her voice smooth, decisive—cold—she gives the next order.
“Taze them.”
I don’t have time to react.
Electricity rips through me, fire searing my nerves, my muscles locking as agony explodes in my body. I hear my men drop around me, sharp grunts and curses cut short as voltage overtakes them.
Gia screams my name.
Then there is nothing but darkness.