Chapter 54 POV MATTEO

Chapter 54 POV MATTEO

The lights going out was my cue.
I didn’t breathe.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t hesitate.
I’d already memorized the warehouse in my bones—the blind spots, the choke points, the angles the cameras couldn’t see because I’d paid to have them installed wrong six months earlier.
Petrov thought this was his stage.
He was wrong.
The first shot cracked the silence like the snap of a spine.
Then the night exploded.
Gunfire tore through the darkness, muzzle flashes strobing white-hot against concrete and steel. My men flooded the perimeter in waves—silent, efficient, surgical. No shouting. No panic. Just death moving with intent.
I was already inside.
Smoke burned my lungs as I slid behind a stack of shipping crates, returning fire on instinct. One man went down. Then another. A third tried to flank me and caught a knife straight through the throat.
I didn’t stop moving.
I never stopped moving.
Because Lilianna was in there.
And Dante.
And Rafaele.
And I was done letting anyone breathe who thought they could touch my blood and live.
“Sector three compromised,” Louis’ voice crackled in my ear.
“Copy,” I muttered. “Collapse inward.”
The High Table men were good—disciplined, trained, ruthless. But they weren’t mine. They didn’t fight like family. They fought like assets.
Assets break.
I kicked through a side door and entered the central loading bay.
Bodies already littered the floor.
Some Costello.
Mostly not.
And there—tied to a steel chair, blood-soaked but breathing—was Dante.
Relief was a blade through my ribs.
I moved fast, cutting restraints, hauling him upright.
“You good?” I demanded.
He spat blood. Grinned. “I’ve had worse first dates.”
I shoved a gun into his hand. “Stay behind me.”
He sobered instantly. “Rafaele’s here.”
“I know.”
“He’s not alone.”
“I know.”
“And Matteo—” Dante grabbed my arm. “He’s wearing Syndicate colors.”
I smiled.
“Let him.”
We moved deeper into the warehouse, toward the command level.
That’s when I felt it.
The shift.
The air thickening.
The silence before the storm.
I turned—
And Rafaele stepped out from behind a column, slow and theatrical, Phoenix Syndicate crest gleaming on his jacket like a badge stolen from a corpse.
He looked… pleased.
“Well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t the prodigal king.”
I raised my gun. Didn’t fire.
Not yet.
“You always liked drama,” I said.
“And you always liked pretending you were better than us,” he shot back. “Above the blood.”
I laughed once. Cold. Sharp. “You sold information that killed a child’s father.”
He shrugged. “Collateral.”
That word sealed his fate.
But then—
Movement behind him.
A figure stepped into the light.
Tall. Calm. Smiling.
Vlad Petrov.
Applause echoed as he clapped slowly.
“Magnificent,” he said. “Both of you. Truly. Family reunions are always so… emotional.”
My finger tightened on the trigger.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
Petrov’s smile widened.
“Oh, Matteo,” he purred. “Always straight to the heart.”
He gestured.
And Lilianna was shoved forward.
Alive.
Unbroken.
Eyes burning.
My chest unlocked just enough to let air in.
She met my gaze.
One nod.
I understood.
Petrov stepped closer to her, fingers brushing her arm.
I nearly lost control.
“You see,” Petrov continued, “you miscalculated. You thought you were the hunters.”
He leaned in, whispering in her ear.
“And tonight, you walked into my mouth.”
Lilianna moved.
So fast the world stuttered.
She slammed her heel into his knee, twisted, ripped the knife from her sleeve—
And plunged it straight into his femoral artery.
Blood sprayed.
Petrov screamed.
Chaos detonated.
I fired.
Rafaele fired.
Dante fired.
The warehouse became hell.
I sprinted toward Lilianna as Petrov’s guards rushed in, gunning them down mid-stride. Dante flanked left. Louis’ voice screamed coordinates in my ear.
Rafaele disappeared into smoke.
Coward.
Petrov collapsed, choking on his own blood.
I reached Lilianna, gripping her shoulders.
“You okay?”
She nodded, breathless, fierce. “Finish it.”
I turned back to Petrov.
He was dying.
Slow.
Painfully.
As he should.
I crouched beside him.
“You underestimated one thing,” I told him calmly.
He gurgled.
“Her.”
I fired once.
Clean.
Final.
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
Then sirens in the distance.
Too late.
Always too late.
We didn’t celebrate.
We secured.
Bodies burned. Data wiped. Witnesses erased.
Dante was stabilized. My men regrouped. The High Table lost two-thirds of its New York leadership in under twenty minutes.
And Rafaele?
Gone.
Again.
I stood on the warehouse roof as dawn bled across the river.
Lilianna joined me, wrapping a jacket tighter around herself.
“It’s not over,” she said quietly.
“No,” I agreed. “But it’s changed.”
She looked at me then.
“At least Callum is safe.”
I exhaled slowly.
“For now.”
Her jaw tightened.
“And when Rafaele comes back?”
I smiled.
Not kind.
Not gentle.
“He won’t,” I said.
Because next time…
I would hunt.