Chapter 41
The sun had barely risen when the first echo of gunfire cracked through the secluded training ground behind the Graviano estate. Tall trees circled the open field, providing natural cover and privacy. The air was crisp, dew still clinging to the blades of grass, and the scent of oil and metal filled the space.
Raffaele stood at the far end of the field, sleeves rolled up, his black training shirt soaked around the collar. His hair was damp from sweat, and his jaw clenched with focus. He adjusted the strap of his tactical vest and glanced toward the range where four targets had been set up at various distances.
Behind him, a few of his men stood at attention, silently watching. They knew better than to interrupt when he was in this mood. Ever since the relocation and the incident with Annabel, Raffaele had been harder than usual. Sharper. Meaner in some ways. Focused in others.
He loaded the next round into his pistol with practiced ease. His eyes were cold, calculating. He wasn’t just training—he was venting.
BANG.
The first shot landed center on the head of the nearest target.
He adjusted.
BANG.
Second heart shot. Clean. No hesitation.
One by one, each of the targets dropped or bore new bullet holes through their printed faces. Raffaele moved like a machine. Quick reloads. Steady aim. No words.
When the final round was spent, he lowered his weapon slowly and handed it to Diego, one of his most experienced guards. "Check alignment. It’s pulling slightly to the left."
Diego nodded and took the weapon without a word.
Raffaele pulled off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting to the training mats where two younger recruits were sparring under Luca’s earlier instructions. One of them stumbled, receiving a swift kick to the ribs.
"Pathetic," Raffaele muttered.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. The two men straightened immediately. He strode toward them and signaled one to step off the mat.
"You," he said, pointing at the other. "Try me."
The young man hesitated, but nodded.
Raffaele didn’t wait. He kicked forward with lightning speed, sweeping the recruit’s feet out from under him. The man landed with a grunt, coughing from the impact. Before he could rise, Raffaele’s knee pressed into his chest.
"If you hesitate again," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "you’ll be a corpse before your enemy even lifts his weapon."
He rose smoothly and turned away without looking back.
Luca arrived a few minutes later, stepping out from the path between the trees with a tablet in hand. He wore a dark jacket and sunglasses, his expression unreadable.
Raffaele spotted him and walked over. "Anything?"
Luca shook his head. "Nothing solid yet. Surveillance picked up a car two clicks from the hospital two nights ago. Could be ours. Could be theirs. We’re checking."
Raffaele’s jaw tensed. "That’s not good enough."
"I know," Luca said. "But they’re getting smarter. Covering tracks better. Whoever is behind this knows your moves."
"And I’m about to make them regret that." Raffaele took a bottle of water from the bench and drank deeply. He looked at Luca over the rim. "Annabel?"
"Still stable. Katarina said she’s talking again. Ate something yesterday."
Raffaele gave a small nod. "Good. Keep the guards on full rotation. No one gets near her."
Luca studied him for a second. "You could go see her, you know."
Raffaele turned away. "Not yet."
The silence lingered for a few beats. Then Luca swiped something on the tablet and handed it to him.
"Here. There’s a new name. Theo Costa. Black market trader. Arms, poisons, connections across southern Europe. Guess who he’s been visiting lately?"
Raffaele scanned the document quickly. A photo of Theo, stepping out of a luxury sedan, sunglasses perched on his smug face.
Raffaele’s grip on the tablet tightened.
"She’s working with him?"
"Seems like it. Surveillance confirms the last spy been in contact with him at least five times this month. We think they’re planning something bigger than what’s already happened. Possibly another hit. Possibly more. Or maybe it's just the dude's personal dealing. We can't tell."
Raffaele’s expression darkened. He looked back toward the targets he had shot earlier. That rage he’d buried deep started to rise again.
"Find out where they sleep," he said. "Who they talk to. What they eat. What they love. Find it. Then burn it."
Luca didn’t flinch. He just nodded.
Raffaele returned to the field. He grabbed another weapon from the bench, this time a heavier rifle, and stepped back up to the range.
He lined up a fresh set of targets. But this time, he wasn’t aiming at faceless cutouts. He was aiming at ghosts. Betrayals. People who thought they could play with his life.
BANG. BANG. BANG.