Chapter 33 LUCA
LUCA
The plan was crazy from the start, but Nora wouldn't have it any other way. She offered herself as bait so Bellini would keep his eyes on her while we ripped his empire down to the dirt.
Matteo taps his watch against the wood. "They fell for it. Bellini thinks he can destroy us by having our girl locked in a room."
I slide a fresh magazine into my gun, the snap sharp in the quiet room. "Let him think that until we kill him."
"Adrian marked three spots, and Enzo ran recon on all of them," Matteo adds, rubbing his knuckles. "Three places that keep Bellini fed with guns and money. Enzo says if we hit them hard, Bellini's men have nothing left to fight with."
I strap my vest tight. "We don't just hit them. We burn everything down, then we get Nora back."
Adrian spreads a map flat on the table. "First is the bakery depot south of here where he stores his heavy artillery. Second is the dockside warehouse. Enzo is already in position outside the third spot, the stone safe house near the hills where Bellini stashes his cash."
Matteo pulls his straps tight with a quick grin. "Sounds like fun. Let's make sure none of it is standing by morning."
"Move fast and hit hard," I order, black gloves pulled tight over my fingers. "Nora bought us this time. Don't waste it."
The alley smells like damp garbage and cold yeast behind the bakery door.
Adrian steps to the latch with the lock pick, but I put my heel straight through the wood.
Splinters shower the dark entrance hall.
The guard on the prep stool grabs for a Glock near the flour bin.
I fire twice into his chest before his fingers close around the grip.
He slumps into a sack of rye, knocking it flat.
Footsteps pound down the hall. Matteo hooks the man's ankle with his boot, driving his blade up into the throat as the body hits the tile. Red streaks the faded floral paper.
In the kitchen, two men have were pressed flat against the back tiles.
A third leans against the metal prep station, knees knocking together under his dirty apron, looking like he picked up a rifle yesterday.
I cross the floor, grab a handful of his collar, and slam him down across the marble counter.
Metal bowls bounce and ring against the grease-stained floor.
I twist his collar until his eyes go wide and his chest heaves. "Where is the safe key?"
He claws at my hands, shaking all over. "Under the sink! In the floor! Please don't shoot me!"
Adrian kicks a stray piece of wood away and holds up a phone. "He called Bellini's docks right before we walked through the door."
Matteo kicks open the floor hatch and grabs a heavy black box full of books. "See? It pays to talk."
I toss the box at Adrian. "Tie him up and dump the gas. Burn the guns. Bellini doesn't get to keep a single bullet."
Matteo ties the kid's wrists with rough, quick loops. "Got it. Remind me never to let you pick the paint for the living room."
We sweep the remaining rooms in under eight minutes. Two dead on the linoleum, one shivering in our van. The neighboring street remains pitch-black and lifeless because locals know that looking through window blinds during a Moretti sweep is an easy way to get buried.
The second warehouse sits out on rotted timber pilings over the black water, sheet metal rattling in the wind.
Adrian raises his suppressed barrel twice; two guards drop hard into the gravel before their cigarette embers even flicker out.
I kick the rusted side door inward until the frame buckles.
Four men scramble behind wooden shipping crates inside.
A blast from a 12-gauge chews a crater into the concrete pillar beside my ear, throwing gray powder into my eyes.
I put three rounds straight through the thin pine planks.
Splinters shred outward, followed by a heavy thud as dead weight collapses behind the wood.
A slug grazes my left arm, tearing cotton and dragging a white-hot line across the muscle.
I step straight through the brass casings littering the floor and raise my weapon.
Matteo sweeps low behind a yellow forklift, his weapon barking in tight bursts until a shooter folds over a pallet.
One guard breaks and sprints for the loading doors toward the dark water.
I cut the corner and grab him by the nylon collar of his vest, spinning him off his feet and driving his skull into the dock floorboards.
Cartilage crunches wet beneath his nose.
I tangle my fingers into his hair and jerk his face up toward mine.
I step down hard against his chest until he groans. "What channel are the docks using?"
The man coughs up spit against the floor. "Channel four, you prick. But you'll never make it there alive!"
I squeeze the trigger once, ending his noise. The blast rings out across the metal roof. I turn back toward the loading docks while Adrian finishes dismantling the security panels.
Matteo tosses a flare into the pool of ruptured diesel fuel as we clear the threshold. Heat roars against our backs, yellow flames licking up the corrugated siding toward the roof. My mobile buzzes against my chest with incoming reconnaissance.
I wipe grease from my cheek before getting behind the steering wheel. "Where to next?"
Adrian pulls his seatbelt across his chest. "The stone house by the old road. Lots of lights on, plenty of guards outside."
The third house sits behind neat stone walls in a quiet residential district.
Terracotta roof, flower boxes, polished gravel.
We breach the rear patio door at midnight using suppressed carbines.
Two sentries rush into the central hallway with shotguns raised.
I drop the first with two rapid center-mass hits.
The second catches Matteo's blade across the throat before he can clear his holster.
Blood spatters the white stucco walls. I step over him without slowing.
The basement security door is solid steel.
I pump three rounds into the electronic lock casing and drive my boot through the latch.
The door swings into a concrete bunker lit by a single fluorescent tube.
Three Bellini soldiers scramble from a card table.
One lunges for a radio console. I catch his forearm and snap the radius across the edge of the metal desk, pinning his throat with my forearm.
I slam his jaw hard into the table until the metal groans beneath him. "Where is the money?"
The man chokes for air, his hands waving in panic. "The hard drive! It's in the wall behind the desk! Take it!"
"Found it," Matteo calls out, ripping the silver drive from the hole in the plaster. "Bellini is flat broke."
A satellite phone on the ruined desk suddenly rings, the harsh chime cutting through the dust. I snatch it up and hit the speaker button.
"Enjoying the demolition, Moretti?" Bellini's voice crackles through, venomous and dripping with mock cheer.
"Your guns are ash, your cash is burned, and your men are dead," I answer, watching smoke curl off the barrels in the room.
"Do you really think taking a few empty warehouses hurts me?
" Bellini spits back, his voice crackling through the line.
"You run around playing soldier in the dirt while blind to your own living room.
You want to win this war, Luca? Stop burning my trash and search from the inside your house to find the traitor first."
The line goes dead with a sharp click.
Silence slams down on the ruined concrete basement.
Matteo stops dead in his tracks, the hard drive hanging loose in his fingers, his usual cocky smirk completely erased from his mouth.
Beside the blown door frame, Adrian freezes mid-stride, his jaw tightening into iron as his hand grips his rifle until his knuckles turn white.
"Traitor?" Matteo whispers, his gaze flicking from the radio table directly to Adrian, then snapping toward me. "What the fuck is he talking about, Luca? That's bullshit. He's just trying to get inside your head while he bleeds out."
I set the dead receiver flat against the dented steel desk, my thumb pressing the plastic until the casing snaps.
"He knows we're here," Adrian murmurs, stepping into the center of the bunker, eyes darting toward the open hallway like the walls themselves have ears. "He knew about the raids, Luca. If someone inside the family gave him our routes..."
"Nobody speaks a word of this," I cut him off, my voice dropping dangerously low, deadly and quiet.
I turn my eyes on both of them until Matteo swallows hard and looks away.
"Not to anyone. Keep it that way. We finish Nora's extraction, we burn Bellini's empire to ash, and then I tear our own house apart brick by brick until I find out who sold us out. "
We plant explosives on the server racks and walk out. Within seconds, the basement erupts into smoke and fire, destroying Bellini's financial network for good.
Outside by the stone wall, Enzo steps out of the shadows, a smoking shotgun resting across his shoulder. He kicks a dead guard into the bushes, his face smeared with black soot and a wild smirk stretching across his mouth.
"Took you long enough," Enzo spits, wiping grease on his jeans. "I took down three sentries out here while you old men were having a polite chat inside."
The mountain breeze hits us as we clear the courtyard. Blood from my shoulder wound is soaking warm through my left cuff. Matteo gives my sleeve a long, critical look.
"You're bleeding on the leather, Luca," Matteo points out, gesturing with his weapon. "Nonna will kill us if you ruin another good jacket."
"Shut up and tell me where to drive," I snap back, ignoring the hot sting in my arm.
Adrian glances up from his small screen while Enzo slides into the back seat beside Matteo, slamming the door. "The old stone farm outside town. A few cars by the trees and at least six guys waiting inside."
"Let me breach first," Enzo grunts, racking a shell into his shotgun with a sharp clack. "I haven't broken enough heads tonight."
"Matteo, you and Enzo take the back," I direct, foot heavy on the gas as rocks spray beneath the tires. "Adrian and I will walk through the front door."
Matteo checks his gun with a low chuckle. "I love taking the back door. Much better view."
Enzo sneers, his elbow digging into Matteo's shoulder. "Just stay behind me so you don't get shot, big cousin."
We speed through the winding dirt roads toward the last site. Bellini's weapons are gone, his bank accounts are smoked, and his safe houses are in ruins. Now all that matters is reaching the extraction point.
In the lead SUV, Adrian takes the wheel while Enzo and Matteo reload their weapons in the back. I check the GPS tracker we slipped into Nora's shoe before she left our estate.
Adrian watches the little screen on the dash. "Her dot is moving. Fast. Right down the main road."
Matteo laughs, leaning back in his seat. "She didn't wait. I knew she wouldn't sit there like a good little hostage."
My phone vibrates violently against my thigh. I pull it out and tap the speaker icon.
"Talk to me," I bark into the speaker.
"Boss, hear this?" the man yells over static. "Sara's whole compound is burning down. Guys are running around screaming."
I tighten my grip on the phone until the frame groans. "Where the hell is Nora?"
"She killed Sara Bellini," the scout gasps, breathless. "Sara talked shit about Sofia, and Nora went crazy. Took a car from the garage and smashed right through their front gate."
Matteo howls with laughter, slapping his knee. "Jesus Christ. Never let me make that girl angry."
"I told you she was dangerous," Enzo barks from the back, a fierce grin lighting up his bruised face. "She's got more balls than half our crew."
A fierce rush of pride hits my chest. I stare out at the mountain road ahead, my pulse racing.
"Take the dirt road on the right," I tell Adrian. "We meet her head-on before Bellini's men realize what hit them."
Adrian stomps on the gas, throwing the SUV into a tight slide around the ridge. Smoke from Bellini's ruined warehouses lights up the sky behind us.
Two headlights sweep across the tree line ahead. A stolen black sedan speeds down the gravel pass, kicking up dust as it swerves toward our convoy.
Both cars slam on the brakes, stopping bumper to bumper in the middle of the dark road.
The sedan door kicks open. Nora steps into our high beams, dark hair wild around her shoulders and a tire iron hanging from her bloody knuckles. Her dress is torn at the collar, dust streaking her throat, but she doesn't flinch against the glare.
I shove my door open before Adrian even cuts the engine.
I cover the dirt between us in three long strides, kick the tire iron straight out of her grip, and yank her against my chest. Her breath hitches against my neck as my arms lock around her waist, dragging her off her feet.
I crush my mouth down onto hers, hard and desperate, tasting copper, dust, and pure adrenaline.
A piercing, whistles splits the dark air from behind me. Matteo leans out the passenger window of the SUV, whooping at the top of his lungs while Enzo sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a deafening blast of his own, pounding the door frame with his fist.