The Enemy Within
Gunfire still thundered across the rooftop like a war drum.
Screams echoed. Tables lay overturned, shattered glass crunched beneath boots, and smoke curled from the barrels of hot guns.
Behind a fallen column near the balcony’s edge, Alessandro knelt, cradling his younger brother, his heart pounding harder than the chaos around them.
“Shit! Adriano—why the fuck did you do that?!” he snapped, his voice strained with panic.
Adriano was on the ground, back pressed against the pillar, a hand clutching the gushing wound in his shoulder. His breathing was ragged, sweat clinging to his temples despite the cold wind.
“You would’ve gotten killed, you asshole,” Adriano muttered through gritted teeth, blood wetting his lips. “And if anyone’s killing you… it’s gonna be me.”
Alessandro let out a breath—half laugh, half groan—but the rage didn’t leave his face.
“Can you still move?”
Adriano gave a tight nod, jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Still got some juice.”
“Good.” Alessandro handed him his spare pistol. “Stay behind this cover. Shoot anything that isn’t us.”
Alessandro didn’t wait for a reply. He shoved up from the ground, turned, and jumped back into the chaos, moving like a man possessed.
He whipped around as he dove between cover and cover, returning fire with surgical precision.
Adriano, teeth clenched, rose slightly, braced his back against the column, and steadied his aim. Every movement sent white-hot pain searing through his body—but he still managed to squeeze off shot after shot.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
One bullet took out a man about to ambush Marco from behind.
Another clipped a shooter aiming for Luca as he vaulted over a table.
“Nice fucking shot!” Marco called out.
Adriano didn’t respond. His vision was blurring at the edges.
The air stank of cordite, blood, and expensive wine.
Bodies littered the rooftop—both staff and the attackers. The gunfire began to thin out, one final burst of chaos before the last few men went down.
And then—
Silence.
Alessandro stood, panting, his gun still raised.
Before him, one man remained on the ground—moaning, bleeding from both arms and legs. He tried to crawl, trailing blood behind him like a dying animal.
Alessandro stepped closer, looming over him, gun steady.
Adriano grunted as he pulled himself upright and limped toward a chair. He sank into it, groaning, still clutching his shoulder. Blood stained his shirt, fingers, and pants.
Luca and Marco rushed to him. “Are you okay?” Luca asked.
Adriano nodded through the pain. “Yeah, I'll be fine. I’ve had worse.”
Gabriele circled the bleeding man like a wolf, gun loose in his grip.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
The man glared up at him, lip bloodied. “Go to hell.”
BANG!
Alessandro calmly shot the man in the arm. The scream echoed across the rooftop.
“Talk,” Alessandro said, his voice cold like ice. “This doesn’t have to be painful… unless you want it to be.”
The man writhed. “I—I don’t know any names! I swear!”
BANG! Another shot—into his thigh this time.
The man screamed so loud it drowned out the sound of the sirens that were fast approaching. “Stop! STOP! Please—I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything, just—please!”
Gabriele leaned in. “Then start.”
The man was sobbing now, chest heaving. “They… they wore dark red suits. Clean-cut. Expensive. Their eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. All of them had these black roses on their lapels.”
Silence.
Alessandro’s grip on his gun twitched. His gaze flicked to Gabriele. Then to Adriano.
Luca and Marco froze, staring at each other in unspoken realization.
Adriano’s jaw tightened. His breath hissed through his teeth. “Black roses...”
“La Rosa Nera,” Alessandro muttered under his breath.
The brothers exchanged a look that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things. Hatred. History. Blood.
Gabriele crouched lower. “How did you know we’d be here?”
The man shook his head violently. “I don’t! I don’t know! We were just hired! They gave us orders, paid us up front. No names. Nothing!”
“Fuck.” Adriano muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “There’s a fucking mole in our circle.” He looked at each of his brothers. “Someone gave up our location.”
The tension cracked like lightning.
Serena’s voice crackled through Alessandro’s earpiece, asking for updates. He didn’t answer.
The man on the floor sobbed. “Please... let me go. I have a wife—she’s pregnant. It's our first child. Please—I won’t say a word, I swear to God... just let me walk away.”
His voice was so pitiful it almost sounded human.
Almost.
BANG!
The man’s head jerked back as Alessandro shot him point-blank, a spray of blood across the rooftop tile.
A few seconds passed.
No one spoke.
Adriano just sat there, watching the blood pool at the man’s skull, hand still clamped over his shoulder, pale now.
Alessandro finally turned, waving his gun in slow, dangerous circles in his hand.
“Now,” he said coldly, “let’s find out and kill this fucking mole.”
Gabriele nodded grimly, checking his empty magazine and tossing it aside.
But before anyone could speak again, Adriano stirred. He grunted, standing shakily. “But before that,” he said, sweat beading on his brow, “I think we need to…”
He trailed off, gesturing halfheartedly to his bleeding shoulder.
Then—
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.
“Adriano!” Alessandro lunged forward, catching him just before his head hit the concrete.
Everything else vanished. Even the gunfire in the distance.
The rooftop swirled into chaos again—but this time, it was the chaos of fear.
Adriano Greco was down.