The King Cobra's Strike
Everyone went completely silent.
Adriano’s declaration still hung in the air like the echo of a gunshot.
Luca stared at him like he’d lost his goddamn mind. Marco was the only one who grinned.
Enzo slowly sat forward, rubbing his temples like he was physically in pain.
Serena didn’t move. Her fingers froze over her laptop keyboard, her brows drawn tightly.
Adriano’s eyes scanned the room, daring any of them to challenge him.
Luca was the first to speak. "You're serious," he said flatly.
Adriano tilted his head. "Does it look like I’m jerking off?"
Marco chuckled. "Nope. This is the Adriano that's about to burn the down the entire world."
Enzo slammed his palm on the table. "Jesus Christ, Adriano! You wanna paint a bigger fucking target on your back? You think this is what your father would approve of?"
Adriano’s jaw flexed. "I don’t give a flying fuck what he approves of. He wanted results. I’m giving him some."
"This is flashy as hell," Serena finally said. "Law Enforcement just intercepted the weapon shipments. They probably have you on their radar right now.”
"Good," Adriano growled. "Let them know I’m coming. If they wanna bring we down, they can fucking try."
He pointed at Serena. "They took twenty million from me. That Russian snake betrayed me. My father hung me out to dry, and our rivals smell blood. I’m not crawling my way back—I’m kicking the fucking door in."
The fire in his eyes was nuclear. Unrelenting. Unstoppable.
Luca leaned back and sighed. "You’ve made up your mind."
Adriano’s expression didn’t change. "Damn right I have."
A heavy moment of silence passed.
Then Enzo broke it with a resigned groan. "Alright. Fine. What bank?"
Adriano didn’t blink. "Crown Federal."
That name hit the table like a goddamn earthquake.
Everyone stiffened. Serena looked up from her laptop sharply.
Marco’s smirk dropped.
Enzo closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.
Luca ran a hand down his face. "Why Crown Federal?"
Adriano stepped forward and planted both hands on the table. "Because it’s not just about the money anymore. That place doesn’t just store cash—it holds digital skeletons for every filthy bastard in this country. Account info. Offshore laundering routes. Bribery transactions. High-profile clients like that would rather cut their own dicks off than let that data leak."
Enzo ran a hand through his hair, clearly already stressed out by all this. “You know Crown Federal Bank is basically sacred ground for the criminal elite, right? Mob families, drug lords, corrupt politicians and billionaires—they all use it. It’s not just a bank, it’s a goddamn fortress. We hit that, we make enemies we didn’t even know existed.”
“I know.” Adriano looked at each of them, his voice tightening with rage and purpose.
"But we're taking it all. The cash, the records, the leverage. We’re not just getting back what we lost—we’re making sure no one fucking dares come after us again."
"And you got this from Viktor?" Serena asked carefully.
Adriano nodded once. "Yeah. He was dumb enough to brag about it before he fucked me over. He thought it was bait, but I’m flipping the goddamn table on him."
Serena leaned back. Her expression shifted from concern to calculation. "Okay... That changes things."
Luca and Enzo exchanged a look.
"So this is about revenge and damage control," Enzo muttered.
"And a giant middle finger to your father," Luca added.
Adriano cracked his neck then smirked. "Triple play, baby."
—
The war room smelled like gun oil and quiet desperation.
Adriano stood at the head of the long steel table, green eyes sharp beneath the low industrial lights. Around him, his inner circle moved with measured precision. Each of them immersed in the madness he’d just set in motion.
Blueprints of Crown Federal Bank glowed from a projector on the far wall. Floor layouts. Security grid. Ventilation routes. Vault schematics. It looked like the nerve center of a military operation.
Serena was posted behind her laptop, fingers flying across keys. Multiple screens danced with code, camera feeds, and floor plans. Lines of encrypted firewalls were falling, one after another. Her brows knit together as she leaned in, a faint glow reflecting off her pale skin.
“If we pull this off,” Luca said, arms crossed as he watched the layout spin in 3D, “we’re legends.”
Enzo, standing just behind him, scoffed under his breath. “If we don’t, we’re fucking dead.”
They weren’t exaggerating. The stakes were too high for jokes. But jokes, in their world, were like bulletproof vests—necessary illusions of safety.
Marco cracked open the long metal case at his feet and started taking inventory. The unmistakable clack of a rifle slide being drawn back echoed through the room like a war drum. He lifted an M4, examined the sight, loaded a mag and tested the trigger with mechanical calm.
Around him, the rest of Adriano’s soldiers moved like phantoms, assembling weapons, strapping on combat gear. Gloves snapped on. Kevlar zipped up. Masks were lined up like trophies—hand-painted, menacing things meant to send a message.
Adriano lit a cigarette with one hand while tightening the strap of his shoulder holster with the other. Smoke curled upward, drifting through the tension like a ghost. Shirtless, the tattoo on his arm glistened faintly with sweat and rage—the golden serpent, winding from wrist to shoulder like it was watching everything unfold.
Enzo slapped a printout of Crown Federal’s highest-profile clients onto the table. “You see this?” he said, jabbing a finger against the names. “Dirty senators. Fortune 500 criminals. A fucking drug lord who runs half the coke in Miami. Oh—look at this one—‘P. Gianni.’” He paused, glancing at Adriano with raised brows. “La Rosa Nera.”
Adriano’s jaw twitched.
Serena didn’t look up from her screen. "Exterior perimeter has three exits. North, west, and south. Five guards at each. Front lobby has bulletproof glass and security cameras—I can loop them, but only for twenty minutes max. After that, they’ll know we’re in. We’ve got exactly thirty minutes, from breach to exit.”
She dragged a virtual clock onto the bank’s 3D layout. A red countdown ticked across the screen—00:20:00.
“You want tactical silence, you better use these,” Luca said, tossing voice modulators onto the table. “No real names. No accents. No fuckups.”
Adriano didn’t respond.
He walked to the table with the masks and stared down at them—vicious skulls, demon eyes, serpent fangs.
The others picked theirs up, slipping them over their heads like slipping into new skin.
Adriano didn’t move.
“You’re not gonna wear one?” Luca asked, sliding his own mask halfway up to look at him. “Seriously?”
Adriano’s lips curled into a slow smirk, eyes still fixed on the blood-red cobra mask meant for him.
“La Rosa’s got accounts tied to Crown,” he said quietly. “I want them to know who the fuck did it.”
Luca exhaled. “Christ.”
“Dramatic,” Serena muttered, typing without looking up.
“Necessary,” Adriano corrected.
Downstairs, Marco was spray-painting the side of the armored getaway van with thick red letters.
KING COBRAS.
The night was heavy with momentum. In a few hours, this crew would become the stuff of whispers. Warnings. Headlines. Maybe legends.
Or maybe, corpses.
Adriano stood at the warehouse doors, masked soldiers behind him, the van idling with a low growl.
He took one last drag of his cigarette, blew the smoke into the cold air, and said in a low, hard voice.
“Let’s go make fucking history.”
2 DAYS LATER – CROWN FEDERAL BANK
Inside Crown Federal Bank, marble floors gleamed. Bank tellers chatted quietly behind bulletproof glass. Clients sipped espresso and waited in line.
Security guards stood at their posts, relaxed but vigilant.
A calm, perfect fucking day.
Until—
BOOM!
The front doors of Crown Federal Bank burst inward under the force of two men wielding compact battering rams.
Glass shattered. Screams rang out like gunfire before any bullets were even fired.
Adriano Greco stepped in first, leather-gloved fingers wrapped around a matte-black AR-15. No mask. No hesitation. His blonde hair glinted beneath the tinted skylights as if the devil himself had walked through the front doors with a vendetta to settle.
“EVERYONE ON THE FUCKING GROUND!” Adriano roared.
A gunshot cracked—the barrel of his rifle angled to the ceiling. White flakes of debris rained down as panicked gasps turned into full-bodied screams. Employees and customers alike hit the marble floors in a trembling wave, clutching their heads, crying out, sobbing.
Luca Romano swept in next, followed by Marco, Enzo, Serena, and dozens of masked soldiers from I Cobra Re. Each in full tactical gear, voice modulators muffling commands like ghostly reapers. They fanned out in practiced motion. A machine of precision.
"Phones on the ground! Hands behind your head! DO IT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL START DROPPING BODIES!"
Adriano strode forward, walking straight up to the bulletproof glass, pressed the barrel of his gun against it, and smiled.
"Smile for the cameras, La Rosa Nera," he muttered.
"About time for the whole goddamn world to know my fucking name.”