Chapter 8 Ren
The fortress rises from the hills like a scar that never healed.
La Cupola dei Demoni (The Demons Dome) is not subtle.
Thick stone walls wrap around it in a wide circle. Old medieval bones reinforced with modern steel. Floodlights mounted along the edges turn the night into something harsh and white. Cameras swivel slowly. Guards pace the walls in pairs. Armed. Alert. Too confident.
I study it from the ridge above through binoculars.
“Count?” I ask.
Matteo does not look away from the scope. “Main gate, twelve guards. Two armored vehicles parked inside the courtyard. Snipers on the east tower. At least four. Probably more inside.”
“Patrol pattern?” I ask.
“Every twelve minutes. They overlap at the south wall.”
I nod. Predictable. Lazy. Power makes people stupid.
Behind us, my men wait in silence. Engines are off. Weapons are checked without a sound. Faces hard. Eyes locked on me. They trust me with their lives. And I'll do everything within my power to not let them down. If they die, they'll die knowing they died for a worthy cause.
The plan is not just to end the rival gang and send a message but also to take over the fortress. It will serve as a second base, completely safe and secure, even from the military.
“They think this place makes them untouchable,” I say quietly. “That fortress is their pride. Their symbol.”
I lower the binoculars.
“Tonight, it becomes their grave.”
Matteo smirks. “Always poetic.”
I turn to the group. “Listen carefully. We are not here to level the place. We are here to own it. Anyone who drops their weapon lives. Anyone who does not dies.”
A few nods. No one speaks.
I move to the digital map projected onto the hood of the car. The fortress layout glows faintly in blue.
“The Cupola was built for defense from the outside,” I say. “Not from within. That is their weakness.”
I tap a section near the rear wall.
“Old drainage tunnels. Sealed on paper. Not in reality.”
Matteo raises a brow. “You are sure?”
“I had an architect tortured for hours to be sure.”
He grins. “Fair enough.”
I straighten. “Team Alpha takes the tunnels. Silent entry. You secure the inner courtyard and disable the cameras. Team Bravo creates noise at the south wall. Nothing flashy. Enough to pull eyes away.”
“And you?” Matteo asks.
I look back at the fortress. At the lights. At the arrogance.
“I walk through the front door.”
There is a pause.
Then quiet laughter.
“You are insane,” Matteo says fondly.
“Get used to it.”
The assault begins at 02:17.
Bravo fires first. Controlled bursts. Just enough to light up the south wall and wake every idiot inside. Alarms blare. Floodlights swing. Guards scramble into position.
Exactly as planned.
Alpha disappears into the hillside like ghosts.
I step forward with my unit.
The guards at the main gate spot us too late.
“Contact!” one of them shouts.
The first shot cracks the air.
I fire back without breaking stride.
Chaos erupts.
Gunfire echoes off stone. Shouts. Orders screamed in panic. The gate becomes a choke point of confusion and blood. My men move in sync. Clean. Fast. No wasted movement.
A guard charges with blind courage.
He dies before he gets to move two steps towards me.
We push through the gate.
Inside, the courtyard explodes into violence.
Bullets tear through the night. Stone chips fly. Men fall. One of mine goes down near the left pillar, clutching his side. Another drags him back without hesitation.
“Keep moving,” I shout.
We advance in waves. Pressure. Never stopping. Never giving them time to think.
A sniper fires from above.
The shot grazes my shoulder.
Pain flares but I ignore it.
I take aim and fire once.
The sniper disappears from the tower.
Matteo laughs somewhere to my right. “Show off.”
The inner doors slam shut.
Too late.
Alpha disables the cameras. The lights flicker. Darkness swallows half the courtyard.
Screams follow.
Men start dropping their weapons.
Others fight harder.
One of mine takes a round to the chest and collapses near the fountain. He is dead before he hits the ground. I register it and move on. There will be time to grieve later.
We breach the inner hall.
La Cupola dei Demoni is massive inside. High ceilings. Marble floors. Gold everywhere. Excess and ego carved into every surface.
“This place is ugly,” Matteo mutters.
“I agree,” I say, looking at the place with pure disgust. It is too flashy for my liking. It's a place that screams 'look at me, I have too much money to spend.' "We're definitely redecorating the whole place once we take over."
The fighting moves room to room. Staircases. Balconies. Corridors echoing with gunfire and fear. The rival gang is strong, but they are disorganized. They never expected someone to want the fortress intact.
Their leader makes his mistake when he orders a retreat to the war room.
I anticipated that.
We cut them off halfway.
Smoke fills the hall. Visibility drops. My heart pounds. My shoulder burns. Blood drips down my arm.
I push forward anyway.
A man lunges from the smoke.
I shoot him point blank.
We reach the war room doors.
Locked. Reinforced.
I step back and smile beneath the mask.
“Open it,” Matteo says.
“Oh, I will,” I reply.
I place the charge.
The explosion is contained but devastating.
The doors blow inward.
We storm in.
And then everything stops.
Because the room is empty.
No leader. No lieutenants.
Only a single screen on the far wall.
It flickers on.
A distorted voice fills the room.
“Welcome, Shadow.”
My blood runs cold.
"It's a pre-recorded message." Matteo says.
"I see that." I murmur. "I'm going solo. I'll go find him. You and the rest should handle this side of the fortress."
"Are you sure about that? He might be heavily armed."
I arch a brow. "Are you doubting your leader, Matteo?" I ask with a grin.
He rolls his eyes and groans. "Just come back in one piece."
I move toward the side entrance of the compound, my eyes scanning every detail. The guards are heavy, but I’ve done my homework. I know their routes, their shifts, everything. I slip through the shadows, unseen, reaching the first guard. One swift, silent motion. A quick twist of the neck. He crumples to the floor without a sound. I drag the body into the storage room, dispose of the weapon, then press on. My Glock 17 with the silencer is my tool of choice tonight, and I know how to use it better than anyone.
The next guard is around the corner. I’m quicker this time, a shadow melding with the darkness. I wait for the right moment—just as he turns, I move, the silencer’s hiss cutting through the night like a whisper of death. He drops instantly. I drag him into a small alcove, out of sight.
Inside, the rest of the compound is chaos. I hear the muffled voices of men shouting orders, the clink of metal, the harsh sound of boots hitting concrete. Rocco is inside, surrounded by his lieutenants, barking orders as they prepare for a shipment of illicit goods. I know this is the moment.
I slip inside the building, moving like a wraith, every step calculated. I find a small window looking into the office where Rocco and his men are. From here, I see them clustered around a map, discussing their next move. I don’t waste time.
With one fluid motion, I toss a flashbang into the room.
The explosion of light and sound fills the warehouse, deafening and blinding. Rocco and his men stagger back, disoriented, and I take my chance. I duck low, coming through the door with a burst of movement. I fire twice—each shot landing perfectly as two of Rocco's men collapse, their bodies dropping to the ground like ragdolls.
"Who the hell—?" Rocco's voice rings out, sharp and panicked. He dives for cover behind his desk, pulling a gun from beneath it.
I move with precision, dodging behind a stack of crates as gunfire erupts in the room. The air crackles with tension as the men inside scramble to react, opening fire at the shadows where I have vanished. I feel the heat of the bullets as they whizz by, missing me by inches.
“You think you can just walk in here, Ren?” Rocco’s voice echoes, laced with disbelief. “You’re dead!”
My lips curl beneath the mask as I crouch behind the crates, reloading my gun. “That’s the fun part, Rocco. You’ll find out soon enough.”
A hail of gunfire cuts through the air, and my instincts kick in. I dive out of cover, rolling to the side and narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets. My hands are steady as I return fire, my shots deliberate and precise. One of Rocco’s men drops behind a stack of barrels, clutching his chest in a spray of red. The rest take cover, firing blindly, their shots ricocheting off the concrete walls.
I am relentless. I move like a shadow, darting from cover to cover, never staying in one place long enough for them to get a fix on me. The warehouse is a maze, and I am the predator, stalking my prey. I squeeze off another shot, and a man in a dark suit crumples to the ground.
Another burst of gunfire makes me duck low behind a steel column, my heart pounding in my chest. The adrenaline is familiar, but this is different. This isn’t just another job; this is a message. I will show them who is in charge.
“Don’t you think I won’t burn this place down with all of you inside it!” Rocco shouts, his voice laced with venom.
I shoot back with a sarcastic grin. “You could try, Rocco. But you won’t live long enough to see it.”
A loud crash signals that one of the men has tried to flank me, but I am already on the move. I turn the corner just in time to catch him off-guard, my elbow connecting with his throat. The gun drops from his hand, and I twist it out of his grip, using the momentum to slam his face into the concrete floor.
From my vantage point behind a stack of crates, I spot Rocco trying to make a break for it. He is moving toward the back exit, probably hoping to escape with his life intact. But I am not about to let that happen.
“Not so fast,” I mutter to myself, slipping out of cover and sprinting across the room. I tackle Rocco from behind just as he reaches the exit, sending both of us tumbling to the ground. I don’t hesitate. I yank the gun from his waistband and shove it into his face.
“You know,” I say casually, my voice cold as ice, “I thought you’d put up a better fight.”
Rocco’s eyes are wide with panic as he gasps for breath. “You think... you’ve won?”
My smile is a cruel twist of triumph. “I know I have.”
Before he can say another word, I pull the trigger. The shot rings out, echoing through the warehouse, and Rocco crumples to the floor, lifeless.
I stand over him, chest rising and falling with the rush of adrenaline. The rest of the men—what few are left—are still hiding behind crates, their guns aimed but their hands trembling. They can see the fate that awaits them if they don’t surrender.
I turn toward them, my gun still raised, my voice cold. “The offer’s simple. Join me, or die. It’s your choice.”
The room falls silent, the remaining men exchanging nervous glances. But there are no immediate moves to surrender. I can see it in their eyes. Fear. Disbelief. They aren’t sure if they want to test me.
“Very well,” I say with a sigh, my finger tightening on the trigger. “I gave you a chance.”
With that, I launch myself back into the fray, the air thick with gunfire and the sound of men dying. I move with deadly precision, not stopping until every last one of them has been either taken down or has fled into the shadows.
As the dust settles and the silence returns, I wipe the sweat from my brow and survey the damage. Rocco is dead. His men are either dead or fleeing. And the organization is now mine.
The faint smell of gunpowder lingers, mixing with the coppery stench of blood. My chest rises and falls with the weight of adrenaline. Matteo appears first, grinning like a bastard proud of his chaos. “Well, that was fun. Anyone alive wants a medal?”
I glance at him, smirking despite the ache in my shoulder. “You just enjoy watching people die, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. You just make it look easy.”
Our men start rounding up the few who surrendered. Bruised, battered, shaken, their faces a mix of disbelief and fear. I watch as one of the men glares at me, trying to hide it, but the tremor in his hands gives him away. I walk past, Glock still hot, my eyes cold. “You had a choice. You chose wrong.”
They’re all tied up, knees scraped, heads hanging low. I make sure they understand every detail. Respect, fear, and pain. That’s the lesson here. No mercy for hesitation.
“Good job, team,” I say, voice echoing off the concrete walls. “All that remains is cleaning up.”
Matteo kneels beside one of the men, checking a minor wound. “This one might survive your charm,” he jokes, flicking blood off his gloves.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, lucky for him.”
The courtyard is a graveyard. Spent shells litter the ground. Stones cracked. Armor dented. I step carefully, mindful of the slippery blood beneath my boots. My men work methodically, sweeping, securing, making sure nothing gets left behind.
I move toward the rear, scanning the horizon through the broken arches. The city lights twinkle faintly in the distance. The night is quiet now, deceptively calm. Too calm.
I crouch over one of the bound men, a lieutenant with a swollen eye. “You know why you lost, right?” I ask. He spits at my boots. I kick him lightly. “Smart move. Not.”
He swallows back a curse, finally answering. “You… you didn’t fight fair.”
I grin under the mask. “I fight smart. That’s the difference between surviving and dying.”
A shadow flickers near the gate. My head snaps up. All instinct.
“Stay sharp,” I warn quietly.
One of my men freezes, then whispers, “Sir… movement. By the east wall.”
I signal them to hold. Heart hammering, I advance slowly, Glock ready, every sense screaming. The air is thick. The wind carries the faint sound of breathing that isn’t ours. Someone new. Someone alive. And not one of ours.
I round a corner and stop dead.
The man—or figure—stands under the moonlight, completely still. Hands empty, but the presence is heavy, calculated. The kind that makes your skin crawl.
“Ren,” the voice says, low and sharp. Calm. Mocking. “Impressive work… but you’re late.”
My chest tightens. Every muscle snaps to attention. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
The figure tilts its head, steps forward. A glint of metal catches the light. Not a gun. It's a metal cane, but I still can't see the face behind the voice.
“You think taking Rocco’s place makes you untouchable?” the voice hisses. “You’ve just opened the doors. And what walks through… will burn everything you’ve built.”
I take a cautious step closer. “Try me.”
A shadow moves behind the figure. Too fast. Too precise. Another flash of metal. And I realize—I am surrounded.
The calm night explodes into tension. My men tense, weapons raised, eyes scanning, but even they can’t see everything.
“End of the line, Ren,” the voice whispers again. “And the real game… begins….”
Before I can react, a deafening explosion shatters the courtyard wall. Dust and stone spray into the night. Shouts rise. My men scatter instinctively.
I stumble back, chest burning, adrenaline screaming. The figure is gone. Not a trace.
I crouch low, scanning, heart pounding. The city skyline behind the fortress glows red with fire. Something has just been set in motion.
And in the distance… I hear engines. Heavy, armored, systematic.
I tighten my grip on my gun, teeth clenched.
Did I just create a new enemy?