Chapter 21 Matteo’s Reverse Trap for Marzio
Matteo’s Reverse Trap for Marzio
The first shot cracked through the cargo hold like a slap - sharp, final, and wrong for the space.
Matteo’s sidearm bucked in his grip, the recoil snapping his wrist, the muzzle flash painting the inside of the dark compartment for a heartbeat.
Diesel and wet saltwater stung the back of his throat.
The sound of boots outside the hold turned into a scramble, metal on metal, men cursing in quick, clipped voices that didn’t bother to hide.
Elena’s breath hitched beside him. The witness - bound, gagged, still half-dazed from the panic - went slack for a second as if the noise had tugged the fight out of him. Then he jerked again, eyes rolling toward the door.
Matteo didn’t look at the witness. He kept his shoulders squared to the opening, jaw tight, ears straining for the next movement.
The man he’d shot stumbled backward into the corridor, his weight thudding against something that sounded like a pallet.
Another set of footsteps rushed in, faster, heavier, and closer.
“Matteo,” Elena said, voice low and tight, the way it got when she was trying not to break. “They’ll - ”
“I know.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The hold was too small to waste air.
Elena’s fingers were already moving, quick and controlled, despite the shaking in her hands - she’d been copying what she could from the ledger key, trying to preserve the missing page even after the backup drive had been destroyed.
She’d told him, in that blunt, furious way she had, that partial confession didn’t mean partial proof.
It meant something was still alive. Something was still protected.
The men at the opening surged again. Matteo shifted his stance, angling his body so the door frame caught the next line of sight.
His sidearm felt warm against his palm, too alive for a weapon that didn’t belong in places like this.
He drew in a breath that tasted like rust and fuel, then fired once more - not to kill, not to waste. To pin.
A grunt. A curse. A sudden silence that was only the pause between violence.
Elena moved. Not toward the door - toward the hidden compartment she’d been forced to abandon when the first wave hit.
Her gaze flicked to the seam in the wall panel, the one she’d found with her fingertips earlier.
Her shoulders tensed as if she could force the metal to open just by wanting it hard enough.
Matteo caught her wrist. “Don’t.”
Her eyes snapped to him. There was anger there, and fear, and something else that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t afford. “I’m not leaving it.”
“You’re not leaving,” he corrected. “Not in a hold that’s about to get flooded with bodies.”
“They already - ” Elena swallowed, her throat working against the gag of emotion. “They already have the missing page. That’s why they’re doing this.”
Matteo’s pulse hammered behind his teeth.
He’d felt the pattern in the way the staged raid had been arranged - like they’d known where he’d look, when Elena would panic, how fast they could separate them.
But he hadn’t expected the missing page to be actively protected instead of simply taken.
Protected meant someone was making sure it stayed useful.
Protected meant Marzio De Santis still mattered.
Protected meant Marzio had planned for Matteo’s response.
The door shuddered again, and this time it wasn’t one man trying to force entry. It was a coordinated assault - hands on the frame, weight behind it, a metallic groan from the hinges.
Matteo fired a third time, this one aimed to strike the hinge mechanism. The shot hit with a bright crack, sparks snapping across the metal like thrown knives. The men outside shouted. One of them laughed - low, mean, confident.
“He’s got a gun,” the voice called, thick with certainty. “So let’s give him a reason to use it.”
Matteo felt the trap tighten around them like a noose. He didn’t have time to debate what kind of men those were. He had to decide what kind of trap he was willing to step into.
Elena’s gaze darted to his sidearm, then back to the door. “They want separation.”
“They want compliance,” Matteo said. “They want me to spend bullets instead of time.”
“You’re still following orders,” she said, and the accusation in her tone landed like a bruise.
He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Not when the coded directives had already proven they could reach into his headspace and move him like a piece on a board. “I’m still protecting you.”
Elena’s jaw clenched. “From me, too?”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. “From anyone who thinks they can rewrite our chain of custody.”
Outside, the door finally gave up its fight. It swung inward with a heavy metallic groan, and warm air poured into the hold - air that smelled like old rope, diesel, and something faintly sweet underneath. Perfume. A hint of it, carried on the body of the person who stepped into view.
Matteo’s finger tightened on the trigger again, but he didn’t fire immediately. He scanned the figures. Two men in port-stained jackets, eyes too calm for men about to rush a hold. Their posture said they’d already decided where Matteo would shoot.
And between them - half a step behind, like she was being careful not to get her shoes dirty - stood a woman in a tailored coat that didn’t belong on a dock. Hair pinned neatly. Dark eyes like polished stone.
She wasn’t armed in a way Matteo could see. That didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. It meant she didn’t need to be close enough for a sidearm to matter.
Elena’s breath came out sharp. “Celeste.”
Matteo heard the way Elena said the name - recognition with a thread of dread. Like she’d seen Celeste before in a context Elena hadn’t wanted to admit.
The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Elena Russo.” She spoke the name like it was a contract. “Still making noise.”
Matteo kept his gun up but didn’t let it jerk. He’d learned - hard - that if he moved too fast, if he looked too shocked, the enemy would know exactly what to exploit.
Celeste shifted her weight. “Marzio asked me to make sure you didn’t run off with something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Matteo’s voice stayed level. “Marzio doesn’t ask. He sends.”
Celeste’s gaze flicked to his jacket, to the place his sidearm sat concealed. She didn’t react like someone seeing a weapon. She reacted like someone acknowledging it was there, like a tool she’d already factored in.
Behind Celeste, one of the men lifted a hand toward the witness. “He’s just a mouth. We can shut him whenever we want.”
Matteo’s focus sharpened. Not on the witness. On the phrase mouth. The way they’d planned to control information. The way they’d treated confession like property.
Elena leaned forward, wrists straining against the restraints on the witness’s side. “You cut him off mid-sentence.”
Celeste’s smile sharpened. “Mid-sentence is where the story becomes interesting.”
Matteo didn’t like the way the conversation flowed. It was too clean for violence that had already started. They weren’t rushing. They weren’t panicking. They were performing.
A performance meant someone was watching from a distance.
Matteo stepped to the side, subtly shifting his angle. He was careful not to block Elena’s line of sight, careful not to make her feel caged. He didn’t want her to think he was doing this for control. He wanted her to understand it was for survival.
“Where is the missing page?” he asked.
Celeste blinked slowly. “You mean the page you think Elena has.”
Elena’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think. I know.”
Matteo felt Elena’s tension spike, like a wire drawn too tight. He didn’t blame her. The missing page had become the center of their storm. If Marzio had it, then the next stage of the trap could unfold immediately.
Celeste’s gaze moved between Matteo and Elena like she was measuring the distance between them. “She has something. You have something. And Marzio has what matters.”
Matteo heard the coded directives he’d been receiving - messages that came through his phone like cold hands on the back of his neck. The last one had told him to move toward a customs yard near the port. A place he’d never liked for being too open, too easy to stage an ambush.
He’d been heading there anyway. Not because he trusted the instruction. Because he’d decided to use it.
Marzio would expect Matteo to follow orders. Matteo could give him something better than obedience.
He could give him a counter-ambush.
The men moved, shifting forward, and Matteo’s mind snapped into motion. He couldn’t shoot blindly in a hold with Elena close. He needed to control the door, the line of sight, the flow of air.
He fired once more - at the floor near the men’s feet, a shot that cracked concrete and forced them to recoil. The sound ricocheted, startling the witness, making him gasp behind his gag.
Celeste’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
Matteo’s mouth tightened. “I’m always careful.”
Elena’s hand darted out, grabbing the ledger key from where she’d kept it hidden against her thigh.
The matte, unremarkable device looked almost harmless in her palm.
It was the kind of object that carried the power to open secure data, the kind that could ruin people who thought they were untouchable.
Celeste noticed. Of course she did. Her expression changed by a fraction - just enough to tell Matteo the missing page wasn’t the only thing being protected. Elena’s access to it was being watched.
Elena held the ledger key up for a heartbeat, like a dare. Then she angled it, pressing it against the side of the hidden compartment seam.
Matteo caught her wrist again, harder this time - not to stop her from doing something useful, but to stop her from making noise that would alert every ear within a hundred meters.
“No,” he said. “Not here.”
Elena’s eyes met his. There was a crack in her composure. “Where, then?”
Matteo didn’t answer with a location. He answered with a decision. “Outside.”