Chapter 66 POV MATTEO

Chapter 66 POV MATTEO

Petrov didn’t beg.
That was his first mistake.
He stood in the center of the shipyard office, hands zip-tied behind his back, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still calculating exits that no longer existed. Outside, the harbor burned—sirens echoing across the water, helicopters circling too late to matter.
His empire was dying in real time.
And he knew it.
“You think killing me ends this,” he said calmly. “Men like me don’t die. We multiply.”
I stepped closer, slow, deliberate.
“You’re wrong,” I said. “Men like you only exist because people are afraid to put bullets in your skull.”
Lilianna stood to my left, silent. Watching. Not flinching. Not turning away.
She deserved to see this end.
Petrov’s gaze flicked to her again. Hunger. Contempt. Curiosity.
“You’re wasting your potential,” he told her. “You could’ve ruled beside me.”
She smiled.
A thin, lethal curve of her lips.
“I already rule,” she said. “You’re just in my way.”
For the first time, Petrov’s composure cracked.
I nodded to Louis.
The men dragged Petrov forward, forcing him to his knees near the open hangar doors. Wind howled in from the harbor, carrying the smell of fire and salt and death.
I crouched in front of him.
“You killed her father,” I said quietly. “You ordered the hit.”
He shrugged weakly. “Collateral.”
The word rang through the space like a death sentence.
I didn’t strike him.
Didn’t raise my voice.
I simply stood and stepped aside.
Lilianna moved.
She approached Petrov slowly, heels echoing against concrete, every step controlled. When she stopped in front of him, he looked up at her—finally afraid.
“My father died protecting his men,” she said. “Protecting routes that fed families. He believed in loyalty.”
Petrov scoffed. “Loyalty is a myth.”
She drew a pistol from inside her jacket.
“So is mercy.”
The shot echoed across the harbor.
Petrov collapsed forward, dead before his body hit the ground.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Final.
I watched Lilianna carefully—waiting for the tremor, the breath hitch, the collapse.
None came.
She lowered the gun, face calm, eyes clear.
The past no longer owned her.
Outside, sirens grew louder.
“Burn it,” I ordered.
Dante nodded.
Explosives went off in sequence, tearing through Petrov’s compound, erasing evidence, erasing legacy.
By the time authorities arrived, there would be nothing left but ashes and unanswered questions.
We were ghosts again.
The flight back was silent.
Not tense—resolved.
Lilianna slept against my shoulder, exhaustion finally claiming her. I watched her chest rise and fall, steady and unbroken.
For the first time in years, Petrov was gone.
But wars don’t end when enemies die.
They end when threats do.
And Petrov hadn’t acted alone.
Rome greeted us with rain.
Soft. Persistent. Like the city itself was trying to wash the blood away.
Callum ran to us the moment we stepped through the villa doors, throwing himself into Lilianna’s arms.
“Momma!”
She dropped to her knees instantly, crushing him to her chest, eyes closing as if grounding herself in the weight of him.
I watched them, something tight loosening in my ribs.
This—this—was why the world burned.
Louis approached quietly. “Boss. There’s a problem.”
Of course there was.
I stepped away into the study.
“What kind?”
He hesitated. That alone set my nerves on edge.
“We lost a shipment,” he said. “Intercepted en route from Marseille.”
“By who?”
Louis exhaled. “Not Petrov’s people.”
That made me still.
“Then say it,” I demanded.
He met my eyes.
“Syndicate internal.”
The room felt colder.
“Which family?” I asked.
Louis shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
It mattered.
“Someone inside the alliance thinks Petrov’s death weakened us,” Louis continued. “They’re testing the waters.”
Testing me.
“Names,” I said.
“There’s chatter,” Louis replied. “Boston. Maybe Miami.”
I laughed once. Short. Sharp.
“They mistake restraint for weakness,” I said.
“Then we remind them,” Dante said from the doorway.
I turned.
“How?” Lilianna asked quietly from behind me.
She’d entered without us noticing.
Always listening.
Always reading the room.
I considered her words carefully.
“We don’t strike first,” I said. “We expose.”
Louis frowned. “Expose what?”
I smiled.
“The truth.”
The Syndicate convened again within forty-eight hours.
This time, not in Chicago.
In Rome.
My city.
My ground.
They arrived cautious. Armed. Nervous.
Good.
I stood at the head of the table again—but this time, Lilianna sat beside me.
Not behind.
Beside.
A queen, not a shadow.
Boston spoke first. “You called this meeting abruptly.”
“Yes,” I said. “Because someone here broke Syndicate law.”
Murmurs rippled.
Miami’s boss stiffened. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“So is theft,” I replied.
I slid a folder across the table.
Inside: photos, timestamps, shipping logs.
Proof.
“Boston intercepted Costello freight,” I said calmly. “Arms and medical supplies.”
Boston stood abruptly. “That’s a lie.”
Lilianna leaned forward.
“No,” she said. “It’s documented.”
Boston’s gaze flicked to her.
Mistake.
“And before you deny it,” she continued, “understand this: we already neutralized your operatives in Marseille.”
Silence slammed down.
“You killed my men?” Boston snarled.
“No,” I said. “We reassigned them.”
Meaning they’d been bought—or buried.
Chicago exhaled slowly. “You broke the accord.”
Boston’s jaw clenched.
“And now you face consequences,” I said.
Miami shifted uneasily. “What kind?”
I looked around the table.
“The kind that restores order.”
Boston’s voice trembled. “You can’t just—”
I stood.
“I can,” I said. “Because Petrov is dead. Rafaele is dead. And anyone who thinks this alliance survives without discipline is welcome to test me.”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Lilianna placed her hand over mine.
Boston sank back into his chair.
Chicago nodded once. “Boston is stripped of routes for six months. Assets redistributed.”
Boston’s face went gray.
“And,” Chicago continued, “Costello authority stands.”
Just like that.
The Syndicate bent.
Again.
That night, Lilianna stood on the balcony overlooking Rome.
“Does it ever stop?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “But it changes.”
She turned to me. “And us?”
I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, resting my chin against her temple.
“We change with it,” I said. “Or we die.”
She leaned into me.
Below us, the city breathed—ancient and alive.
“Callum deserves more than this,” she said softly.
“He’ll have it,” I promised. “Because we’ll build something better.”
She smiled faintly.
“I believe you.”
And for the first time in a long time—
So did I.
If you’re ready, say Next
The next chapter moves into:
a quiet but dangerous domestic shift
a threat against Callum that changes everything
or the beginning of the final arc toward absolute power
Just tell me.