Chapter 20: CHAPTER 20 — POV: MATTEO

The warehouse sat like a dying beast on the edge of the pier—rusted metal ribs, broken windows for eyes, the scent of salt and gasoline clinging to the air like warning signs. I stood in the shadows of the dockyard, gloved hands flexing at my sides, the weight of the concealed Glock against my back a familiar comfort.

This place had history. Too much of it.

Blood shed. Deals brokered. Lives taken.

And tonight… it would end with fire.

Louis crouched beside me, eye to the scope of his rifle. “Movement inside,” he murmured. “Three, maybe four on the right wing. Heavy guns.”

“Petrov?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Louis exhaled hard. “Too early to tell.”

My jaw locked. My pulse didn’t race—not anymore. Danger had lived too long inside me to cause panic. But underneath the steel, beneath the tactical calm, a single thought pulsed relentlessly:

Lilianna.

She was miles away—or so I wanted to believe. Safe. Protected. Too stubborn to stay put, but hopefully too smart to follow.

“Your mind’s drifting,” Louis said without looking at me.

“I’m focused.”

“On the wrong thing.” He shifted his gaze to me. “You’re thinking about her.”

I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. The truth burned too hot behind my ribs.

“She has nothing to do with this mission,” I lied.

Louis snorted. “The hell she doesn’t. She’s the only reason you’re here before sunrise. Petrov touched her life. That makes it personal.”

I didn’t answer. Personal didn’t begin to describe it. Petrov had taken Silas, destroyed Alessio, threatened my bloodline—he didn’t even know the extent.

Didn’t know that the boy with Lilianna’s green eyes and my stare was mine.

Not yet.

But he would.

And when he did, he would use Callum against me the way monsters always did.

I tightened my grip on the rifle.

Not happening.

Not while I breathed.

Louis tapped his earpiece. “When you’re ready, boss.”

I scanned the yard one more time. The fog rolled in heavy, making lights smear like wet paint. The hum of distant generators throbbed beneath the ground.

A good night for killing.

“Move,” I ordered.

We advanced.

Silent. Measured. Surgical.

Two guards by the loading dock—gone in seconds. A third sweeping the perimeter—down with a suppressed shot to the throat. The stink of gun oil mixed with the metallic bite of blood, but I kept going. We all did. This wasn't revenge.

This was eradication.

We reached the side entrance. Louis knelt, picking the industrial lock with practiced ease.

“Last chance,” he whispered. “We pull the plug here, regroup, gather more intel—”

“No.”

“You’re running hot.”

“Petrov made a move. I make one back.”

“He wants you emotional.”

“He’s not getting what he wants. I’m thinking clearly.”

Louis gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a damn word. But he stepped aside.

I opened the door.

The hallway inside was dim, warm lights flickering at odd intervals. A generator hummed somewhere in the bowels of the building. My boots barely made a sound on the cracked concrete floor.

Every instinct in me was coiled tight, sharp, alert.

Danger was here.

Watching.

Breathing.

We cleared the first two rooms—empty. A third—just crates of illegal arms and narcotics. A corridor—silent except for the drip of water onto metal.

Then—

Voices.

Low. Male. The thick accent unmistakable.

Russian.

My blood turned cold, but not with fear. With certainty.

Petrov was close.

Louis signaled left. I signaled right. We split at the junction.

I moved like a shadow, gun raised, heart steady. The voices grew louder, rougher, angry. I edged closer to the door and leaned just enough to see.

Three men around a table. Maps. A laptop. Russian documents. One of the men spoke into a burner phone.

“Da. Costello is coming. He takes bait. Let him.”

A trap.

Of course it was.

I lifted the muzzle of my gun.

“Boss,” Louis’ voice whispered through the earpiece. “I’ve got—”

His breath hitched.

A scuffle.

A muffled thud.

“Louis?” I hissed.

Static.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I shoved the door open.

Everything exploded at once. Gunfire roared. The three Russians spun around, reaching for weapons. I moved faster. Two shots—one dead, the second bleeding out, the third firing wildly and shattering a hanging bulb.

I vaulted the table, slammed him into the wall, and forced my forearm across his throat.

“Where is Petrov?”

He spat blood. “Too late.”

“Try again.” I pressed harder.

He grinned through broken teeth.

“Petrov is not here. But she is.”

My body froze.

“She?”

The Russian laughed, choking on blood. “The woman. The one you protect.”

My heart stopped.

Lilianna.

No.

No.

“She follow you,” the man sputtered. “She thinks she help you. Petrov take her. Easy.”

The world narrowed. A single hot, blinding burst of fury ripped through me so fast it felt like my chest imploded.

I snapped his neck before I realized I meant to.

The body fell at my feet.

I didn’t breathe.

I didn’t blink.

I didn’t think.

Lilianna was here.

In the trap meant for me.

Taken.

My voice cracked through the comms, lethal, vibrating with a rage I barely contained.

“LOUIS. Report.”

Static.

Then—

A strained voice, weak, breathless.

“M–Matteo…”

Louis.

I sprinted through the corridor, boots pounding, weapon up.

“Where are you?” I barked.

“South wing… storage level… h-hurry…”

I turned the corner and nearly slid across the slick floor.

Louis lay slumped against a crate, blood pooling beneath him. His face was ash-gray, soaked in sweat.

Ice plunged through me.

“Stay with me,” I snapped, dropping to my knees. “Where is she?”

His lips trembled. “They… they took her down the elevator. Basement level. She tried—she tried to warn you.”

I closed my eyes for a split second.

Of course she did.

Of course she came after me.

Louis coughed, blood splattering his lips. “Boss… it’s a trap. Petrov… he wants you down there.”

“He’s going to get me,” I said low, deadly. “But not the way he wants.”

Louis grabbed my sleeve weakly. “Don’t… go alone.”

I squeezed his hand once. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Then…” He coughed again, choking. “Take backup. You need—”

“I need her alive,” I cut in, rising to my feet. “Everything else can burn.”

I called in my men—those stationed outside, waiting for my signal.

“Regroup,” I ordered. “Full breach protocol. Basement level. Petrov has Lilianna.”

A chorus of curses, growls, confirmations.

I holstered my Glock, grabbed a heavier rifle, checked the magazine.

Then I stepped into the elevator shaft.

Dark. Cold. The air thick with dust and dread.

But beneath that, beneath the rot and rust…

A sound.

A shout.

A scream—

Lilianna.

My heart tore open.

I dropped down the maintenance ladder two rungs at a time, landing hard on the sub-level concrete. Pain shot up my leg, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except the voice echoing through the corridor.

“LET ME GO!”

Her voice was raw, terrified, furious.

Alive.

I sprinted toward it.

The hallway opened into a wide chamber lit by industrial lamps. Chains hung from the rafters. Pools of water shimmered on the floor. The smell of iron and damp concrete seeped into my lungs.

And in the center—

Lilianna.

Held by two men, her wrists bruised, blood streaking her cheek. She was shaking, fighting, eyes wild but defiant.

Petrov stood in front of her, hands clasped behind his back, smiling like the devil made flesh.

“It took you long enough, Costello.”

My vision tunneled.

The gun in my hand felt like an extension of my bones.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Petrov laughed. “No. I think she stays. She is leverage now. A gift.” He tilted his head. “Does she know?”

I didn’t answer.

He chuckled. “She doesn’t. But I see it. I see the truth in your eyes. The boy—”

“Shut your mouth.”

“—he is yours.”

Lilianna’s head snapped toward me. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened—not with shock, but with something far deeper, more devastating.

Pain.

Fear.

Realization.

Petrov smiled wider. “Ah. She knows now.”

I lifted the rifle.

Petrov lifted a detonator.

My blood ran molten.

“One wrong step,” Petrov warned, “and this entire room collapses. You die. She dies. Your child dies with no father.”

My heart nearly stopped at his next words.

“I know where the boy is.”

Lilianna gasped, struggling harder against the men holding her.

Callum.

Callum.

If Petrov touched him—

Something inside me snapped.

Not broke—snapped.

I spoke calmly, coldly. “You hurt her, you touch my son, you breathe wrong—there won’t be enough left of you for your men to bury.”

Petrov smirked. “Then come,” he taunted. “Save her. Save them both. Let us finish this dance.”

He pressed the detonator.

A soft beep filled the room.

Lilianna screamed my name.

I moved.

And the world erupted into chaos.