Chapter 31: War’s Shadow (Nico Valenti POV)
Chapter 31: War’s Shadow (Nico Valenti POV)
I’m in the safehouse basement, the air damp and heavy, handing Luca a 9mm pistol, its grip worn but solid. My hand steadies his, guiding his aim at a makeshift target, cans stacked on a crate against the concrete wall. “Breathe out, squeeze slow,” I say, my thumb on my cross keychain in my pocket, the metal grounding me. Luca nods, tucking a curl behind his ear, and fires, the shot echoing, his hands shaking but clipping the top can.
“Nice,” I say, pulling him close, our foreheads touching for a moment, his breath warm against my skin. His humming, that ballad, hovers soft in the quiet, and I feel the weight of what’s coming: O’Connor’s stash house hit at dawn, Antonio’s eyes on us, Joey’s whispers. I squeeze his shoulder, stepping back. “Again,” I say, nodding to the cans.
He fires twice more, hitting another, his grip steadier. “Getting it,” he says, a small grin breaking through, and I nod, my chest tight with something like pride, maybe fear.
We head upstairs, the safehouse’s main room cluttered with duffels and ammo crates. Marco’s at the table, map spread out, marking O’Connor’s last known routes. I grab my phone, dialing Tommy, Murphy’s bartender, who’s got Valenti’s stash house keys. “Lock it down,” I say when he picks up, his voice rough over bar noise. “O’Connor’s hitting at dawn. Get Frankie’s crew there by midnight.”
“On it,” Tommy says, a glass clinking in the background. “You sure about this intel?”
“Guard’s radio,” I say, glancing at Luca, who’s stacking ammo clips, his knife flipping open and closed in his other hand. “It’s solid. Move fast.”
I hang up, turning to Marco. “We need a decoy,” I say, grabbing a pen and scribbling a fake route on the map, O’Connor’s crew hitting a dummy warehouse on the west side, not the real stash house near the docks. “Leak this to Vinny’s runner,” I say, handing it to Marco. “Make sure it gets back to Sean.”
Marco nods, texting the fake plan to a low-level Valenti guy we know leaks to O’Connor’s men. “Done,” he says, tossing his phone on the table and lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling upward. “Raf’s still at slip 22, unloading with Vinny. Tommy’s got eyes on them.”
Luca pauses, grabbing the guard’s radio from the table, turning the volume low. “Anything new?” he asks, tucking another curl behind his ear, his humming softer now, almost drowned by the radio’s static. He adjusts the dial, catching a faint voice: “Crew’s ready. Stash house, dawn. Confirm decoy.”
“They’re biting,” I say, my hand on my cross, rubbing it hard. “Good. Keeps them off the real target.”
Luca sets the radio down, grabbing a water bottle and passing it to me. “What about Antonio?” he says, his voice low, his knife still flipping. “Marco said he’s asking questions. Joey’s been talking.”
I take a swig, the cold water steadying me, but my gut twists at the thought of Antonio’s summons, the way his eyes cut through you. “We handle the stash house,” I say, setting the bottle down. “Prove we’re solid, and Joey’s just a loudmouth.”
The door creaks, and Joey steps in, a Valenti soldier with a scar across his cheek, his jacket open, a smirk on his face. He’s with Vinnie, another crew guy, both carrying ammo crates. Joey sets his crate down, his eyes flicking to Luca, then me. “Heard you’re training the barman,” he says, nodding to Luca, his voice dripping with doubt. “Hope he doesn’t shoot his own foot when O’Connor shows.”
I step forward, grabbing Joey’s collar, slamming him against the wall, the crates rattling. “Say it again,” I growl, my fist raised, my cross digging into my palm.
Luca’s hand lands on my arm, firm but calm. “Nico, let it go,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes locked on mine. “We’re stronger together.”
I shove Joey back, letting him go, and he straightens, smirking but stepping away. Vinnie watches, silent, stacking his crate, but I see the doubt in his eyes too. I turn to Luca, nodding once, grateful for his calm, and grab a chair, sitting to check my gun’s clip.
“Joey’s not wrong,” Marco says, low, blowing smoke, his eyes on me. “Antonio’s watching you two close. One slip, and he’ll bury you both.”
I nod, cleaning my gun, the metal cold under my fingers. “Then we don’t slip,” I say, glancing at Luca, who’s back to stacking ammo, his humming a quiet anchor. “We secure the stash house, get Raf’s cash, and shut this down.”
Luca grabs his notebook, jotting something, probably O’Connor’s radio chatter, and looks up. “What if the decoy fails?” he asks, his pen pausing. “If they hit the real stash house?”
“Then we fight,” I say, standing, holstering my gun. “You’re ready, Luca. I’ve seen it.”
He nods, tucking the notebook away, but his hand shakes slightly, and he flips his knife again, the click filling the room. I’m about to say more when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with Antonio’s number. I answer, my heart sinking, his voice cold and sharp: “Bring the barman to my office. Tonight.”