Blood on the trail

Blood on the trail
Matteo’s POV

I had not slept in two days.

Not real sleep. Not the kind that rests the body. Just brief moments where my eyes closed and my mind kept moving anyway. Every time I leaned my head back, images surfaced. Aria’s face. Her voice. The way she looked at me when she trusted me.

Then I opened my eyes again and she was still gone.

I paced the length of the base, boots scraping against the concrete floor. Back and forth. Again. Again. The movement kept me from exploding. It kept the anger contained, barely.

The place looked like a war room that had forgotten how to breathe.

Empty coffee cups crowded every surface, some overturned, some abandoned halfway through. Cold caffeine clung to the air. Laptops glowed with paused footage and live feeds, maps layered over maps, red lines scribbled across screens like wounds. Weapons lay broken down and reassembled more times than necessary, hands needing something to do.

No one sat for long.

No one relaxed.

The air felt sharp, charged, like it could snap at any second.

Aria had been gone too long.

Every hour without news pressed harder against my chest. Every minute stretched into something unbearable. This was not waiting. This was failing in slow motion.

Dante stood at the central table, shoulders rigid, both hands planted against the maps as if the surface was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes were bloodshot but alert. Enzo leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, jaw locked so tight I could hear his teeth grind when the room went quiet.

We all looked the same.

Worn down. Wired tight. Dangerous.

No one said it, because saying it made it real.

The Russians had Aria.

Nathan had handed her over.

And the Russians believed she carried something her father left behind. Information. A location. Something valuable enough to justify killing him and keeping her alive just long enough to bleed answers out of her.

For now.

“Run it again,” I said.

My voice sounded rough even to me.

Screens shifted instantly. Traffic cams blinked into view. Satellite stills refreshed. Phone pings flared, vanished, reappeared. Nathan’s movement over the last forty eight hours traced across the city like a disease spreading through veins.

“This is where he switched vehicles,” Dante said, tapping the screen with two fingers.

“And here,” Enzo added, pushing off the wall and leaning closer. “Burner went dead. New one came online twelve minutes later.”

Their voices were fast. Controlled. No wasted words.

This was muscle memory. This was what we were trained for. No arguing. No hesitation. No room for doubt.

This was war.

I leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. The room faded until it was just me and the timeline.

Nathan had been careful. He rotated vehicles, avoided predictable routes, cut cameras when he could. He knew our methods because he had learned from us.

But nobody was perfect.

I stared at the movement logs again. Slower this time.

There.

A gap.

Too clean. Too quiet.

“Stop,” I said.

Everything froze.

I pointed at the screen. “Here. Twenty minutes. No movement. No signal.”

Enzo frowned. “Could be a dead zone.”

“Not there,” I said. “Coverage is strong. He did not lose signal. He chose to go dark.”

Dante leaned in, studying it again. His jaw tightened.

“You’re right,” he said.

Nathan had stopped.

Not for fuel. Not to switch phones. Not to change cars.

For contact.

Something twisted low in my gut.

“Move,” I said.

We did not hesitate.

The underground garage erupted into sound. Engines roared to life. Headlights flared. Tires screamed as vehicles peeled out in different directions, splitting into units with practiced precision. I took point, leading my team through the industrial districts where warehouses sat like rotting teeth and rusted fences cut shadows into the dark.

The city felt hostile out here. Empty. Watching.

Weapons were checked again. Safeties flicked off. Hands steady despite the exhaustion.

Comms stayed tight. Short updates. Coordinates. Movement confirmations.

No wasted breath.

As we drove, doubt tried to sink its claws into me.

I wondered if I should have seen Nathan’s betrayal sooner. If I had trusted the wrong man. If being Alpha meant I was doomed to lose the people who mattered most, no matter how hard I fought.

The thought cut deep.

Then Dante’s voice snapped through comms.

“Focus.”

Just one word.

It hit like a slap. Grounded me.

Enzo followed it with a muttered comment about my driving getting soft with age. It was dry. Forced. But it cracked the pressure just enough.

We were brothers first.

Whatever waited for us, we faced it together.

“Contact,” someone said over comms.

A man stepped into the street ahead, moving fast, shoulders hunched, head darting left and right like prey that knew it was being hunted.

“That’s him,” Enzo said. “One of Nathan’s runners.”

“He’s bolting,” I said.

The chase exploded into motion.

Engines cut. Doors slammed open. Boots hit pavement hard enough to echo. The man ran like he already knew what would happen if we caught him.

He tore through narrow alleys, jumped fences, slipped on loose gravel. He almost made it through a tight gap between two buildings.

Almost.

I tackled him from behind. We hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from both of us. He fought wild, elbows flying, teeth snapping, pure panic driving every movement.

I ended it fast.

Pinned him. My forearm pressed against his throat until his struggle weakened.

“Talk,” I said.

He shook his head. Spit blood. Tried to laugh through it.

I hit him once.

That was all it took.

Names poured out. Locations. A compound outside the city. Russian owned. Restricted access. Heavy security. Too many men. Too many guns.

Enough to confirm everything.

We left him shaking on the pavement, curled in on himself.

Back in the vehicle, silence filled the space.

“The Russians,” Dante said quietly over comms.

Old territory. Old blood. Old wars that never really ended.

We already knew, but hearing it confirmed tightened something brutal in my chest.

Coordinates came through seconds later. A place far enough from the city to stay hidden. Close enough to reach fast.

“Redirect,” I said. “Now.”

No waiting. No backup.

Night deepened as we drove. Streetlights thinned until darkness swallowed the road. The city fell away behind us. My hands clenched tighter around the wheel.

The weight of command pressed down heavier than ever.

If I was wrong, we lost time.

If I was right, we walked straight into hell.

Then a voice cut through comms, sharp with urgency.

“Signal spike. Camera hit. Visual match.”

My breath caught.

“Nathan’s vehicle logged entry into a restricted compound,” the tech continued. “No exit recorded.”

I slowed the car.

Stared at the screen as the location burned into my mind like a brand.

There she was.

I straightened, spine locking into place.

One order left my mouth.

“We found her.”

Engines surged.