29. Giuliano
29
GIULIANO
S omething was wrong.
The thought had been gnawing at me since dawn, growing stronger with each hour of silence from Pearl. Twenty-four hours without contact. No messages, no signals, nothing. The rain hammering against the windows matched my darkening mood as I looked at my men, each radiating tension in their own way.
Nico stood like a statue by the window, massive shoulders tight as he tracked movement on the street below. The twins prowled opposite corners of the room like caged animals, while Vincenzo cleaned his weapon for the third time this morning—a tell I'd learned meant he was deeply worried. Luca's usual easy smile was nowhere to be seen, and even Enzo's carefully maintained facade showed cracks, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his thigh.
"She missed both check-ins," I finally voiced what we were all thinking. "Night and morning. That's not like her."
"Maybe Vittorio's watching her too closely," Vincenzo suggested, but his voice held no conviction. "She might be waiting for a safer moment?—"
"You really believe that?" Angelo's tension finally broke. "This is Pearl we're talking about. She'd find a way, even if she had to break something just to get a message out?—"
"Which is exactly why we need to wait," Luca cut in. "If we rush in now and we're wrong?—"
"Fuck waiting!" Rocco exploded, making us all jump. "Who knows what that psycho's doing to her? We promised to protect her!"
I watched my men argue, their voices fading into background noise as I wrestled with my own doubts. Pearl's silence screamed danger, but was it a warning to stay away or a cry for help? Vittorio never did anything without reason.
Maybe this was nothing. The tactical part of my brain said to wait, to gather more intel... but my mind kept circling back to all the ways Vittorio dealt with those who disappointed him.
And then I remembered Pearl's eyes the last time I saw her. She'd risked everything on our promise to protect her. If something happened to her because I hesitated...
"If we wait too long, there won't be anyone left to save." Nico's words dropped like stones into the tension.
The silence that followed was deafening. We'd all seen Vittorio's handiwork. All of us knew what happened to people who betrayed him.
"We stick to the plan," I announced, cutting through the ongoing debate. "Pearl trusted us. She risked everything."
My men exchanged glances, years of working together allowed them to read the gravity in each other's eyes. They knew the risks. Knew we were probably walking into a trap.
But this was Pearl.
The tower loomed like a fortress through the rain, its lights piercing the darkness in precise patterns. I checked my weapon for the tenth time, trying to shake off the unease in my gut. Everything was in place—we'd run through the plan a hundred times, mapped every approach, timed every guard rotation. Through my scope, the new guards moved with a precision that made me uneasy. These weren't Vittorio's usual muscle.
"Two minutes," Angelo's voice crackled through my earpiece. From my position in the building across the street, I watched the twins moving like ghosts through the security cameras' blind spots. Enzo and Vincenzo were already in position at the service entrance, while Nico's massive frame somehow managed to disappear into the darkness near the garage. Luca remained steady at my six, ready with long-range cover.
"Security rotation starting," Angelo reported softly. "Cameras shifting in three... two..."
We moved as one, perfect synchronization born from years of working together. The first part went exactly as planned—guards down silently, security feeds looped, access points secured. Almost too perfect.
Then came a soft click—barely audible over the rain but enough to make my skin prickle. Through my scope, I saw a guard check his watch, then deliberately turn away from his post. Not the random movement we'd counted on, but a calculated maneuver.
"Wait—" I started to say, but it was too late.
Light flooded the courtyard, not sudden and bright, but in a calculated sequence—first the west corner, then the north, methodically eliminating every shadow we'd planned to use for cover. The guards moved with practiced efficiency, not rushing, not panicking. They knew exactly where to look.
"They're ready for us," I breathed into my comm. "Jules?—"
The first shots came precisely, deliberately—not wild suppressing fire, but carefully placed rounds keeping us pinned exactly where they'd anticipated we'd take cover. These weren't Vittorio's standard thugs. This was something else entirely.
"Multiple teams," Vincenzo's voice was tight. "Professional formation. They're not even pretending to do regular patrols anymore."
Through my scope, I caught movement at Pearl's window high above. A pale face appeared briefly—God, she looked so scared—before being yanked back into darkness. The sight sent something primal tearing through my chest.
I shifted position to get a better angle, but the snipers had every vantage point covered. "I've got eyes on?—"
The heavy crack of a high-powered rifle cut through the night. For a split second, everything seemed to freeze. Then Nico's massive frame jerked backward, blood misting the air around him.
"NICO!" The twins' voices merged into one horrified shout as our friend, our brother, crumpled to the ground. The sight of him going down—Nico, who'd always seemed indestructible—made my blood run cold.
Angelo and Rocco moved in sync, laying down covering fire while scrambling toward Nico. His shirt was soaked crimson, but he was still conscious, still fighting. "I'm okay," he growled, though his face had gone gray with pain. "Just... just clipped me."
But the amount of blood painting the concrete told a different story.
"Jules," Luca's voice cracked beside me. "We're out of options."
I glanced up at Pearl's window again, imagining her watching this disaster unfold. Had Vittorio planned this? Was she being forced to witness our failure?
The silence in my ear felt suffocating as I watched my perfect plan crumble. We all knew what retreat meant—leaving Pearl behind, abandoning her to whatever fate awaited. The thought made bile rise in my throat.
"Live to fight another day," Nico forced out through gritted teeth, barely conscious but still our voice of reason. "We're no good to her dead."
Another burst of precise fire emphasized his point. I looked at my team—my family—taking in the blood, the exhaustion, the barely contained pain. The price of my arrogance.
"Fall back," I ordered, each word tasting like ash. "Emergency extraction. Angelo, Rocco—get Nico clear."
The retreat was brutal. Nico's wound wasn't immediately fatal, but he was losing blood fast. Somewhere in the chaos, Vincenzo had taken a graze to the shoulder, and Enzo was limping badly.
The first light of morning painted bleak accusations across my study as I watched my shattered team. The twins moved like broken mirrors, their connection fractured by pain and defeat. Luca hadn't spoken since we'd retreated, his hands still shaking as they gripped the scope that had failed to protect her.
"He'll move her," Rocco's voice broke. "After this, she'll disappear into one of Alessandro's clinics."
The words hit like physical blows. We'd sworn to protect her, to never let her know that kind of fear again. How had it come to this?
When Luca's scope shattered against the wall, the sound matched the splintering in my chest. The memory of her last smile haunted me—how she'd looked at us that morning, full of trust and something deeper. Something we'd all felt but never dared name.
"Jules," Vincenzo's voice cracked. "What do we do now?"
For the first time in my life, I had no answer. No strategy. No brilliant solution to pull victory from defeat. We'd lost her. Failed her in every way that mattered.
I stared at my bloodied hands, her last message burning in my mind. All my promises to keep her safe, all those quiet moments when she'd finally started to believe in us... in me. Worthless now.
Sunlight crept across my desk like spilled blood. Soon Vittorio would have her transferred. Soon she'd face whatever "treatments" Alessandro had planned, with no gentle touch to remind her she was loved. No safe arms to run to.
I closed my eyes, remembering how she'd fit so perfectly against us, how her nightmares had slowly faded when we held her. Now she'd face new ones alone, thinking the men who'd sworn to defend her—to love her—had given up.
Maybe we had.
The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything we'd lost. No one spoke. No one needed to. We'd failed the one person who'd believed in us, and there was nothing left to say.