Chapter 7 - Blood and Iron
Bullets ripped through the metal walls of Warehouse Four, creating sparks that danced through the smoke-filled air.
Mateo pulled a suppressed hand gun from beneath his coat with fluid, lethal grace. Before Romano’s personal guard could lift his submachine gun, Mateo fired two precise rounds into his chest, dropping him instantly.
"Retreat! Get the Don out of here!" a rival lieutenant screamed through the darkness.
Romano scrambled backward, using his remaining men as human shields as he fled toward a side exit leading to the boat slips.
Mateo moved through the chaos like a shadow. Every shot he fired was calculated, calm, and devastatingly accurate. Beside him, Marco breached the center aisle, dropping two more Romano soldiers with rapid bursts from his rifle.
Within three minutes, the gunfire died down, replaced by the groans of wounded men and the heavy thud of dripping rain through the bullet-riddled roof.
Marco lowered his weapon, breathing heavily, his tactical vest splattered with dust and blood.
"Boss!" Marco called out, searching the smoke. "Romano got away on a speedboat! He’s headed toward the south harbor!"
Mateo stepped over a fallen guard, ejecting his empty magazine and sliding a fresh one into his weapon with a sharp click. His face was cold, unreadable, entirely devoid of fear or excitement.
"Let him run," Mateo said, his voice deadly steady. "He made his move. Now he knows where I stand."
"He knows about the woman, Mateo," Marco warned, stepping closer. "He knows Elena and the kids are at the estate. He’s cornered now. A cornered rat will strike at whatever he can reach."
Mateo walked over to the table and picked up the grainy photograph of Elena that Romano had left behind. He stared at it for a brief moment before pulling out a silver lighter and setting the corner on fire. He watched the paper burn down to ashes, dropping it onto the concrete floor.
"Increase the guards at the estate by double," Mateo ordered. "Station snipers on the perimeter towers. Nobody enters or leaves without my explicit clearance."
"And the girls?" Marco asked.
"They stay inside," Mateo said, stepping toward the exit. "We're going to finish this war before the week is over."
An hour later, the black motorcade returned to the Moretti estate.
The house was dark, save for a single light burning on the third floor. Mateo walked through the grand foyer, removing his blood-stained gloves and tossing them to a waiting servant.
Instead of going to his study, his boots carried him softly up the stairs to the third-floor guest suite.
He stood outside the cracked door, looking through the narrow gap.
Inside, the room was softly lit by a bedside lamp. Elena was asleep on the armchair by the corner, looking exhausted. On the large bed, Sophia sat awake, reading a picture book to little Meera, who was fast asleep, clutching her new teddy bear.
Sophia looked up, noticing Mateo standing in the doorway.
She didn't look scared. She closed the book quietly, set it on the nightstand, and slid off the bed, creeping over to the door on tiptoe so she wouldn't wake her mother.
"Mr. Moretti," Sophia whispered through the gap.
Mateo looked down at the tiny girl. The coldness that had filled his heart at the docks began to thaw, just a little.
"You should be sleeping," Mateo murmured softly.
"I was waiting for you," Sophia said, looking at him with bright, honest eyes. "I wanted to say thank you for the toys."
Mateo remained silent for a second, feeling a strange, unfamiliar ache in his chest.
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"Go to sleep, Sophia," he said gently. "You're safe here."
Sophia smiled, nodded, and tiptoed back to her bed.
