Chapter 65 POV MATTEO

Chapter 65 POV MATTEO

Wars don’t announce themselves.
They seep.
They infect every breath, every decision, every silence between heartbeats until you realize—too late—that peace has become the exception instead of the rule.
Rome was quiet the morning after blood spilled in its alleys.
Too quiet.
I stood at the window of the villa, espresso cooling untouched in my hand, watching sunlight crawl over ancient stone like it had done for centuries—uncaring, relentless. Empires had risen and fallen here. Men far greater than me had bled into these streets and been forgotten.
I had no intention of being forgotten.
Behind me, the house moved with subdued efficiency. Louis coordinating calls. Dante arranging transport. Men speaking in low voices, weapons being checked, passports exchanged, money moving faster than governments could track.
And upstairs—
Callum slept.
That single fact anchored me more than any oath ever had.
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
Lilianna’s voice came from behind me. Calm. Grounded. Dangerous in the way only people who’ve stared death down and refused to blink ever are.
I turned.
She was dressed simply—black jeans, fitted jacket, hair pulled back tight. The bandage on her shoulder was clean, but I knew it hurt. She’d dismissed the medic with the same stubborn grace she applied to everything else.
“I’m thinking strategically,” I said.
She arched a brow. “That’s what you call it when you’re planning murder before breakfast?”
I smirked faintly. “Only when it’s justified.”
She crossed the room and took the espresso from my hand, taking a slow sip before grimacing. “Cold.”
“So is Petrov’s grave going to be,” I replied.
Her gaze sharpened—not disapproving, but assessing.
“Rafaele talked,” she said.
“He talked enough,” I corrected. “Not everything.”
She leaned against the table, folding her arms. “Men like him always hold something back. Insurance.”
“Yes,” I said. “And that’s why he’s still alive.”
Her jaw tightened. “For now.”
I didn’t argue.
Downstairs, a door creaked. Heavy footsteps followed.
Dante entered, expression hard. “We’ve got confirmation.”
I straightened. “From where?”
“Tallinn,” he said. “Petrov’s people acquired three warehouses near the port. Heavy movement. Private security. Non-local muscle.”
Lilianna exhaled slowly. “He’s building a fortress.”
“He’s building a throne,” I said. “And he thinks distance protects him.”
Dante hesitated. “There’s more.”
I looked at him sharply. “Say it.”
“Petrov put a bounty out,” Dante continued. “Not just on you.”
Lilianna’s eyes flicked to me.
“On her,” Dante finished. “And Callum.”
The room went silent.
I felt something dark and violent coil around my spine.
“How much?” I asked.
Dante swallowed. “Enough to turn loyal men into traitors.”
I slammed my hand into the table.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
“That ends today,” I said flatly.
Lilianna stepped closer, placing her hand over mine—not restraining, just present. A reminder that I wasn’t alone in this fury.
“We knew this was coming,” she said quietly. “Fear is his currency.”
“And fear only works if people believe you’re untouchable,” I replied. “He wants to stay myth.”
Dante frowned. “So what’s the move?”
I met Lilianna’s eyes.
“We drag him into the light.”
Rafaele screamed for the first time just after noon.
Not from pain.
From realization.
He was strapped to a chair in the basement, pale, sweating, eyes darting like a trapped animal’s. Blood loss had weakened him. Fear finished the job.
“You should’ve killed me,” he rasped as I stepped into his line of sight.
“I will,” I said calmly. “But first, you’re going to help me end a war.”
He laughed weakly. “You don’t have the reach.”
I pulled a chair and sat across from him.
“You planted Arman,” I said. “You fed Petrov Genovese intel. You sold your blood for ambition.”
He said nothing.
“But you’re still alive,” I continued, “which means you still think you matter.”
His lip curled. “I do.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you’ll want to live.”
His breath hitched.
I leaned forward. “Petrov doesn’t trust you anymore.”
Rafaele’s eyes flickered.
“He never intended to share power,” I pressed. “You were always expendable. A tool.”
“That’s a lie,” Rafaele snapped.
I smiled. “Is it?”
I nodded once.
Louis stepped forward and placed a tablet in front of Rafaele.
Video footage.
Petrov. Laughing. Speaking Russian.
Subtitles burned across the screen.
Rafaele is useful. Until he isn’t.
The Genovese woman is the real threat. Kill her last.
Rafaele went very still.
The color drained from his face.
“He said that?” he whispered.
“He recorded it,” I replied. “Arrogance is his flaw.”
Silence stretched.
Then Rafaele broke.
“He’ll be in Tallinn in three days,” he said hoarsely. “Private summit. No Syndicate. No council. Just his inner circle.”
“Where?” I asked.
He swallowed. “An old shipyard turned compound. He believes it’s untraceable.”
I stood.
“It isn’t.”
Rafaele lifted his head, eyes wild. “If you go after him, it won’t just be war. It’ll be annihilation.”
I leaned down, close enough that only he could hear me.
“Good.”
That night, I watched Callum sleep.
Small chest rising and falling. One hand clutching the edge of his blanket like he was holding onto the world.
I knelt beside the bed, brushing hair from his forehead.
“I will burn the earth before I let them take you,” I whispered.
Behind me, Lilianna stood in the doorway.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t have to.
We shared the same vow.
By morning, the villa was empty.
We moved fast. Quiet. Off the grid.
Private jet. Black routes. No phones. No digital footprints.
Tallinn greeted us with cold wind and steel skies.
The city smelled like rain and oil and old ghosts.
Our safehouse overlooked the harbor.
Through binoculars, I watched Petrov’s compound from across the water—lights blazing, guards pacing, cameras sweeping in predictable arcs.
“He thinks he’s invisible,” Louis muttered beside me.
“He always does,” I replied.
Lilianna studied the schematics spread across the table.
“This place was built to keep people out,” she said. “Not in.”
I glanced at her.
She met my gaze.
“We don’t breach,” she continued. “We extract.”
“Petrov won’t run,” Dante said. “He’s too proud.”
“No,” Lilianna agreed. “But his people will.”
She tapped the map.
“We fracture the inner circle. Panic spreads. Loyalty cracks.”
I smiled slowly.
“Decapitation strike,” I said.
“Exactly,” she replied.
That night, the first fire burned.
A warehouse three blocks from the compound exploded, lighting the harbor in flame.
Then another.
Then another.
Petrov’s men scrambled. Communications jammed. Routes blocked.
I watched chaos bloom like a virus.
“Now,” I said.
We moved.
Through water.
Through shadows.
Through fear.
By the time Petrov realized this wasn’t a distraction—
We were already inside.
He was taller than I expected.
Broader.
Older.
But his eyes were sharp. Calculating.
“So,” Petrov said in accented Italian, calm despite the gun trained on him. “The Costello comes himself.”
“Always,” I replied.
His gaze flicked to Lilianna.
Recognition sparked.
“The Genovese girl,” he said. “I wondered when you’d stop hiding.”
She smiled coldly. “I was never hiding.”
Petrov laughed. “You should’ve stayed dead like the rest of your family.”
I moved faster than thought.
My fist met his jaw with bone-cracking force.
He staggered but didn’t fall.
“Touch her name again,” I said, voice lethal, “and you won’t die quickly.”
He wiped blood from his mouth, grinning.
“This ends badly for you, Costello.”
I leaned closer.
“It already ended,” I said. “You just didn’t hear the echo yet.”
Outside, sirens wailed.
His empire was collapsing.
And Petrov finally understood—
Myth doesn’t survive contact with truth.
And tonight?
Truth wore our faces.