“We’ll have it,” he promises, his lips brushing my forehead. “I swear to you, we’ll have it.”
As I drift toward sleep in his arms, I allow myself to believe him. To imagine a world where our children grow up knowing only peace, where the names De Luca and Moretti mean alliance rather than war.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new dangers. But tonight, wrapped in Silvo’s embrace, I let myself dream of the future we’re fighting for.
40
SILVO
My phone rings at 3 AM. Paulie’s name flashes across the screen.
“This better be important,” I growl, careful not to wake Carmela beside me.
“Boss, our guy inside the Tartarov operation just made contact. Alexei himself is coming to the docks tomorrow night to oversee a major weapons shipment. Military-grade stuff—assault rifles, grenade launchers, even some experimental tech.”
I sit upright, instantly alert. “You’re certain it’s Alexei, not one of his lieutenants?”
“Confirmed by two separate sources. One of Nico’s guys validated it too—they got the same intel.”
“Call Nico. Tell him I need a meeting in two hours. Neutral ground.”
By sunrise, Nico Moretti and I sit across from each other at an abandoned warehouse office. Despite the early hour, he looks as immaculate as ever in his tailored suit. Our decades-old rivalry is temporarily suspended by a common enemy.
“My people confirmed it,” Nico says, sliding surveillance photos across the table. “Alexei’s flying in from Brighton Beachspecifically for this shipment. He doesn’t trust his captains with this one.”
“He’s never exposed himself like this before,” I note, examining the photos. “Makes me wonder what’s on that boat that’s worth the risk.”
Nico leans forward. “Whatever it is, it’s our opportunity. Take out Alexei, and his organization crumbles. The power vacuum will tear them apart from within.”
“We’ll need both our crews,” I say, pulling out a map of the docks. “My men here and here—yours covering these approaches. We’ll need snipers on these three buildings.”
Nico nods, adding his own annotations. “We should coordinate through a single command channel. Less chance of friendly fire.”
For an hour, we plot positions, escape routes, contingencies. Two families that spent generations trying to destroy each other, now working in lethal harmony.
“Federico will coordinate with Maximo on the tactical frequency,” I say, marking the final positions.
Under the cover of darkness, I lead my men toward the docks. The briny scent of the harbor mingles with the metallic smell of weaponry as we move in practiced formation. Nico and his crew approach from the opposite direction, their shadows gliding between shipping containers like ghosts.
Through my earpiece, Fed confirms all teams are in position. “Snipers have eyes on the perimeter. No sign of Alexei yet, but the shipment’s arrived.”
“Copy that,” I mutter, signaling my men to advance. “Maintain radio discipline from here on.”
We’ve been planning this for days—the perfect ambush. Take out Alexei Tartarov and cripple his organization in one surgical strike.
The massive cargo ship looms ahead, a skeleton crew visible on deck. Too few men for a shipment this valuable. Something feels off.
“Visual on target,” comes Maximo’s voice through the comm. “East entrance, moving with four bodyguards.”
“All teams hold positions,” I command. “Wait for my signal.”
I peer through my scope at the figure entering the warehouse. The build matches Alexei, but his movement seems wrong. Too casual for a man overseeing a critical shipment.
Suddenly, my instincts scream danger.
“It’s a setup! Fall back!” I shout into my comm, but it’s too late.
Blinding spotlights flash on from all directions, pinning us in their glare. Heavy gunfire erupts from positions we’d already cleared. They’ve been waiting for us.
