Chapter 46: POV MAT

The first shot was mine.

The echo ripped through the warehouse like the opening note of a symphony written in blood. One of Petrov’s guards dropped before he even knew he was dead—head snapping back, body folding to the concrete.

Chaos detonated.

Shouts in Russian. Boots scraping. Guns coming up too late.

I didn’t slow. I didn’t hesitate.

I moved.

Training took over—years of violence etched into muscle and instinct. I fired again, then again, advancing with brutal efficiency, each bullet chosen, each breath controlled.

Petrov spun, eyes wild, barking orders. Rafaele jerked back in surprise, his grin shattering into something sharp and panicked.

Good.

Fear suited him.

“MATTEO!” Rafaele shouted over the gunfire. “You should’ve come alone!”

I ducked behind a crate as bullets sparked against steel, splinters flying. “I did,” I called back calmly, reloading. “You’re just not as smart as you think.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw movement—fast, low, lethal.

Lilianna.

She came out of the shadows like vengeance given flesh, black hood up, knives flashing silver in the harsh lights. One of Petrov’s men turned too late—her blade slid clean under his jaw. She caught his body before it hit the ground, lowering him silently even as the rest of the warehouse burned with noise.

God help anyone who ever underestimated her.

Petrov barked again. Two men rushed Arman’s position, raising their guns.

I didn’t think.

I roared.

“NO!”

I fired in a brutal arc, dropping one, then the other. Arman sagged against his restraints, blood streaking his temple but alive.

Barely.

Rafaele cursed, scrambling backward. “This wasn’t the plan!”

“You don’t get plans,” I snarled, advancing. “You get consequences.”

The north wall exploded inward.

Louis and Dante breached with military precision—flashbangs detonating, blinding white light and thunder tearing through the air. Screams followed. Then silence as bodies hit the floor.

Petrov bolted.

I saw him sprint toward the rear exit—coward to the end.

“LILI!” I shouted.

She was already moving.

She vaulted a stack of pallets, boots hitting concrete in a hard roll, coming up with a gun she hadn’t had seconds earlier. She fired without breaking stride—two shots, precise.

Petrov staggered.

Didn’t fall.

He spun, rage and disbelief on his face, raising his weapon toward her—

And Rafaele stepped into the line of fire.

The shot hit him square in the shoulder, spinning him sideways with a howl of pain.

Everything slowed.

Lilianna froze.

I froze.

Rafaele hit the ground hard, clutching his bleeding shoulder, screaming curses that echoed off the steel walls.

Petrov stared at him in shock. “You idiot!”

Rafaele laughed through the pain. “You promised me his throne!”

“And you promised competence,” Petrov snapped.

I walked forward slowly, gun trained on both of them.

“Funny thing about thrones,” I said. “They crush the weak.”

Petrov’s eyes flicked between us—calculating, desperate. “Matteo,” he said smoothly, wiping blood from his mouth. “This doesn’t have to end like this.”

I smiled.

Cold.

Dead.

“Oh, it does.”

Lilianna was beside me now, shoulder to shoulder. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. Her eyes never left Petrov.

“He killed my father,” she said quietly.

Petrov sneered. “Collateral damage.”

I felt her stiffen.

Rafaele groaned, trying to crawl away. “Matteo—listen—”

I turned my gun on him.

Silence snapped into place.

“You stood at my father’s funeral,” I said calmly. “You smiled. You hugged me. You told me blood meant loyalty.”

His eyes were wild. “I wanted what was mine!”

“What was mine,” I corrected. “You wanted power you didn’t earn.”

Petrov backed toward the exit again. “Shoot him later. Let’s talk business—”

Lilianna moved first.

She crossed the distance in seconds and kicked Petrov’s injured leg out from under him. He crashed to the ground with a snarl, gun skidding across the concrete.

Before he could reach it, her boot pressed against his throat.

Hard.

He choked.

“You don’t get to talk,” she said, voice steady, lethal. “You don’t get to bargain.”

Petrov laughed hoarsely. “You think killing me ends this?”

“No,” she replied. “I think killing you starts it.”

I walked to Rafaele, crouching beside him.

Blood soaked his jacket. His hands shook.

“Please,” he rasped. “We’re family.”

I tilted my head. “Family doesn’t sell family to enemies.”

He sobbed then. Full, broken, humiliating sobs.

I stood.

Dante appeared at my side. “Orders, boss?”

I looked at Lilianna.

She met my gaze, eyes dark but unwavering.

“He dies,” she said. “They both do.”

Petrov spat blood. “You won’t pull the trigger.”

I didn’t.

She did.

The shot echoed once.

Petrov’s body went still beneath her boot.

The warehouse fell silent except for the ringing in my ears.

Rafaele stared at his corpse, horror dawning. “You killed him…”

Lilianna turned slowly toward Rafaele.

“You killed my father,” she said. “This just balances the scale.”

She handed the gun to me.

I didn’t hesitate.

One shot.

Rafaele collapsed beside Petrov, blood pooling, ambition finally quiet.

It was over.

I stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, the weight of generations lifting and crushing all at once.

Then I turned to Arman.

I cut him down myself.

He collapsed against me, coughing, weak but alive.

“Boss,” he rasped. “I—”

“Later,” I said. “You live first.”

Louis approached, surveying the carnage. “Warehouse secured. Petrov’s men are down or running.”

Dante whistled low. “City’s gonna feel this.”

I looked at Lilianna.

She was already walking toward me.

Her hands trembled now that the fight was over.

I pulled her into my arms, tight, fierce, grounding.

“You came back,” I murmured against her hair.

She pressed her forehead to my chest. “I told you I would.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Our men moved fast, clearing evidence, preparing exits.

I held her a moment longer, breathing her in.

The war had changed.

The world had shifted.

And we were still standing.

“Let’s go home,” I said.