18. Fate’s Cruel Betrayal
Fate’s Cruel Betrayal
Ezekiel
T he text message from Eli lights up my phone.
Eli
We found them. Costa’s crew is operating out of an abandoned warehouse on Sycamore.
My fingers tighten around the device. Finally. After weeks of dead ends and mounting threats, we have a solid lead on Alessandro’s operation. I’m sick of his threats against Eve, and the bodies left around the city like fucking breadcrumbs.
I grab my jacket and gun holster, striding through the club’s back office toward the exit. The bass from the dance floor vibrates through the walls. My mind is already mapping out strategies, calculating risks.
“Seb,” I bark into my phone. “Get everyone to the warehouse. Now. I’m texting you the location.”
“On it.” My brother’s voice is clipped, professional. He knows what’s at stake.
Ten minutes later, I’m in my SUV, speeding through dark streets while coordinating with my crew.
Eli’s already there with surveillance, feeding me real-time intel through my earpiece. “At least fifteen of Costa’s men inside,” he reports. “They’re moving something big. Lots of activity.”
“Keep eyes on all exits,” I order, taking a sharp turn. “No one leaves until we get there. And tell our men nothing better happen to Eve and Leo while we’re out.”
“Don’t worry,” he replies, “they’re safe.”
My jaw clenches as I think about Eve at home with Leo, unaware of the danger circling ever closer. Alessandro’s threats against her weren’t idle—he wants to draw me out, force my hand. He’s using her as leverage, thinking I’ll back down from our territory dispute to keep her safe.
He doesn’t understand threatening Eve is the worst mistake he could make. I won’t just back down—I’ll fucking obliterate him.
“Boss.” Micah’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “We’ve got three teams in position. Ready on your command.”
I pull up to the rendezvous point, killing the engine. Through the windshield, I can see the warehouse—a hulking shadow against the night sky. My men are invisible in the darkness, but I know they’re there, waiting.
“Remember,” I say into the comm, checking my weapon, “we need Costa alive. He has information we need to keep Nicolo out of my city. But anyone else who resists—” I let the silence finish my sentence.
I signal my team forward, keeping low as we advance on the warehouse. The night air is thick with tension, every breath measured and controlled. Through my earpiece, Eli confirms positions—three teams ready to breach, all exits covered. Perfect.
“Seb, you in position?” I whisper through the channel.
“Hell, yes,” he replies. “Let’s take these motherfuckers down.”
My boots crunch softly on broken concrete as I lead my group toward the east entrance. The warehouse looms ahead, its broken windows like dark eyes watching our approach. A faint light flickers inside, casting moving shadows through the grimy glass.
“On my mark,” I whisper, pressing against the cold metal wall. My heart pounds. I’ve done this a hundred times before. “Three, two…”
The explosion comes from nowhere.
The ground beneath my feet erupts, throwing me backward. Heat sears my face as debris rains down. Through the ringing in my ears, there’s shouting—my men, Alessandro’s crew, all hell breaking loose at once.
“It’s a trap!” Seb’s voice crackles through static. “They knew we were coming.”
Gunfire erupts from multiple directions. I roll behind a concrete barrier, drawing my weapon. Through the smoke, my men scramble for cover as Alessandro’s crew emerges from hidden positions—way more than fifteen. We’re surrounded.
“Fall back,” I command, returning fire at a shadow moving through the chaos. “Regroup at—”
Another explosion rocks the night, closer this time. The barrier protecting me shatters, forcing me to dive for new cover. Hot pain slices across my arm—a bullet finding its mark.
“Boss, they’ve got the south exit blocked,” Micah says, his voice tight with tension. “We’re pinned down!”
Fuck. This was supposed to be a clean operation. Get in, neutralize the threat, get out. Now we’re caught in Alessandro’s web, exactly where he wanted us. The bastard played us perfectly.
“Hold positions,” I order, checking my wound. The bullet only grazed me, but blood soaks my sleeve. “Do not let them split us up!”
More gunfire peppers the night. Through the smoke and chaos, I catch glimpses of Alessandro’s men advancing, tightening the noose. This isn’t just an ambush—it’s a goddamn execution squad.
Through the chaos and gunfire, I spot movement—a figure darting between shadows. My finger tightens on the trigger, but I hesitate. The smoke is too thick, the risk of hitting one of my own men too high.
“Seb,” I shout into my comm. “Status!”
Static crackles in my ear. Fuck. Our communications are compromised.
A bullet whizzes past my head, embedding itself in the wall behind me. I return fire, satisfaction coursing through me as my target drops. But there are too many of them, advancing from all sides like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill.
The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth—I must have bit my cheek during one of the explosions. My arm throbs where the bullet grazed me, but adrenaline dulls the pain. Through the haze, I catch glimpses of my men fighting back, holding their positions despite being outnumbered.
Movement to my left. I spin, weapon raised, but I’m too slow.
White-hot pain explodes across my arm as a blade slices through my jacket, cutting deep. The knife-wielder—one of Alessandro’s top enforcers—grins through the smoke. His teeth gleam like a predator’s.
“Boss sends his regards,” he snarls, lunging forward for another strike.
I dodge, but my injured arm throws off my balance. The blade catches me again, a shallow cut this time. Blood runs warm down my sleeve, my grip on my gun weakening.
The enforcer presses his advantage, forcing me back toward the warehouse wall. Each movement sends fresh pain shooting through my arm, but I can’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now.
“Your brother’s next,” he taunts, circling closer. “Then that pretty detective of yours.”
Rage floods my system, hot and familiar. The thought of this piece of shit anywhere near Eve or Seb ignites something primal inside me. The pain in my arm fades beneath a wave of pure fury.
The enforcer strikes again, but this time I’m ready.
I sidestep his strike, letting his momentum carry him past me. In that split second, I drive my elbow into the back of his head. He stumbles forward, and I follow through with a knee to his gut. The knife clatters to the ground.
“You talk too much,” I growl, grabbing him by the throat. His eyes widen as I slam him against the warehouse wall. Blood from my arm drips between us, but I barely notice the pain anymore. “Where’s Alessandro?”
“Fuck you.” He spits in my face.
I tighten my grip, watching his face turn red. “Wrong answer.”
Through the chaos around us, Seb’s voice shouts orders. Good. At least my brother’s still alive. Gunfire continues to echo through the night, but it’s more sporadic now. The tide is turning.
“Last chance,” I tell the enforcer, pressing my forearm against his windpipe. “Where is he?”
“He’s … not here,” the man chokes out. “Never was. This was just … a message.”
Fury burns through my veins. I slam him harder against the wall.
“What message?”
A bloody smile spreads across his face. “That you can’t protect them all. Not your brother, not your men.” His eyes gleam with malice. “Not your pretty cunt.”
The rage inside me explodes. My fist connects with his jaw, then his temple. Again and again until his body goes limp in my grip. I let him crumple to the ground, unconscious or dead—I don’t care which.
A scream pierces the chaos—one I’d recognize anywhere. My blood runs cold as I spin toward the sound just in time to see Seb crumple to the ground, clutching his chest.
“No!” The word tears from my throat as I sprint toward him, bullets whizzing past my head. My own injuries fade to nothing compared to the sight of my baby brother lying there, blood seeping between his fingers.
I slide to my knees beside him, hands shaking as I assess the damage. The bullet caught him high in the chest, too close to vital organs. His breathing comes in short, ragged gasps, his face already too pale.
“Stay with me.” I press my hands over the wound. Hot blood pulses against my palms. Too much blood. Fuck. “Eyes on me, Seb. Don’t you dare check out.”
His dark eyes find mine, pain glazing them over. “Shit timing, huh?” He coughs, red staining his lips. “Should’ve … ducked faster.”
“Shut up,” I snap, fear clawing at my chest. More gunfire erupts around us—we’re completely exposed here. I need to get him out, but moving him could make things worse. “Eli. I need cover. Fire now!”
Seb’s hand grabs my wrist, his grip weaker than it should be. “Zeke.” His voice comes out as a whisper. “If I don’t—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, pressing harder on the wound. My throat tightens as memories flash through my mind—foster homes, running the streets together, building our empire from nothing. He’s all the family I have left. “You’re not dying here. I won’t let you.”
His eyes drift closed. Panic surges through me as I shake him. “Sebastian! Eyes open, damn it!” I can’t lose him. Not like this. Not ever.
“Boss, this way.” Micah’s voice is a welcome calm in this wrathful storm. “Eli’s got the car. Let’s go.”
With the strength of an army, I lift Sebastian into my arms and follow Micah through the smoke and havoc. We only have to dodge a few bullets before I’m sliding into the back seat of one of my black SUVs.
As soon as the door shuts behind, Eli takes off, tire’s screeching on the pavement.
“Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me,” I chant like a desperate prayer, cradling Seb’s limp body against my chest as Eli floors it through the dark streets. My brother’s blood soaks through my shirt, hot and sticky against my skin. Too much blood.