Chapter 4 - The Infiltration
The third-floor hallway was bathed in the pale, eerie glow of emergency red lighting.
Renato Salvi walked with rapid, purposeful steps down the carpeted corridor, holding a silenced pistol in his right hand. Beside him were four mercenaries dressed in unmarked black tactical gear—contract killers brought in from outside the state to ensure there were no local loyalties to complicate the night’s work.
"Remember," Renato whispered, his voice cold and devoid of its usual refined charm. "Damiano dies in his bed. The maid and her child are executed in the west wing. We leave the Bellandi shell-casings in the hallway. By sunrise, I assume full control of the Vitale council to 'avenge' our fallen Don."
The lead mercenary nodded, signaling his men to stack up outside the heavy double doors of Damiano’s master suite.
The mercenary took a breath, raised his boot, and kicked the lock.
The doors burst open, crashing against the inner walls.
The four mercenaries stormed inside, raising their weapons toward the massive, canopy bed in the center of the dark room.
The bed was empty.
Before Renato could react, a low, terrifying voice echoed from the shadowed corner behind the door.
"You were always terrible at tactics, Renato."
PFT-PFT-PFT.
Three suppressed shots shattered the silence.
The three mercenaries crumpled to the floor instantly, hit with fatal precision before they could even turn their weapons. The fourth mercenary swung his rifle around, but Damiano stepped out of the gloom like a phantom, grabbing the barrel of the rifle, twisting it violently to break the man's wrist, and driving a combat knife deep beneath his ribs.
The mercenary collapsed with a wet groan.
Renato stumbled backward into the hallway, his face completely drained of color, his expensive silk suit soaked in sweat. He raised his pistol with a shaking hand.
Damiano stepped out of the doorway, covered in shadows, his silenced submachine gun held casually at his side. He wasn't wearing his expensive coat or his polished shoes. He looked like the predator he had been raised to be—unforgiving, terrifying, and completely lethal.
"Twenty years, Renato," Damiano said, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the corridor. "My father treated you like a brother. He gave you a seat at his table. He let you hold his son."
Renato’s eyes darted frantically toward the staircase at the end of the hall. "Damiano... listen to me... the Bellandis forced my hand! They had leverage on my family in Sicily! I had no choice!"
"You had a choice every single morning you walked into this house," Damiano said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "Every time you brought me coffee. Every time you looked at my father’s watch on my desk."
Renato’s expression hardened into a desperate, hateful sneer. "Your father was weak, Damiano! He wanted peace! He was going to sell off the harbor routes and turn us into legitimate businessmen! He was going to ruin everything we built!"
"He was trying to save us from becoming monsters like you," Damiano countered coldly.
Renato suddenly raised his gun, firing two frantic shots.
Damiano dodged to the left, the rounds embedding themselves harmlessly into the wood paneling behind him. In a fraction of a second, Damiano closed the distance, grabbing Renato’s wrist and slamming it against the marble pillar.
Renato screamed as his gun dropped to the floor.
Damiano grabbed the older man by his throat, lifting him off his feet, pinning him against the wall with terrifying strength.
"Where is the Bellandi strike team?" Damiano growled.
Renato choked, his face turning blue, his fingers clawing uselessly at Damiano’s iron grip. "The... the lower courtyard... thirty men... they... they're setting charges on the bunker..."
Damiano’s eyes flared with dark fury. The bunker. Where Emma and Lily were hiding.
With a swift, brutal strike of his pistol butt, Damiano knocked Renato unconscious, letting his limp body drop to the floor like a sack of garbage.
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Damiano tapped his comms unit. "Enzo! The Bellandis are in the lower courtyard with breaching charges! Seal the wine cellar gates and bring the heavy guard down now!"
"Copy that, Don Vitale!" Enzo’s voice roared through the earpiece over the sound of heavy gunfire. "We're engaging them near the conservatory!"
