Chapter 59 Rocco
Smoke and blood filled the air as I stepped out of the vehicle, the light of burning wreckage flashing from the cold steel of my gaze. The attack had been quick, precise, a warning given in bullets and fire.
I didn't need to wonder who was behind it.
The De Luca family was not liked by many, but few dared to attack us in such a public manner. Tonight, someone had dared to go against us, and I was going to make them pay the price for their folly.
The entrance to the front of the club was a mess, shattered glass, the doors thrown open. And past that, even worse. Tipped furniture, bodies slumped against walls, blood smearing the now-dirty floors. My men were already on the injured, closing off the scene, but my gaze first fell on Elijah, one of my best enforcers, standing at the bar with a gash across his arm.
"What happened?" I barked.
“We were attacked," Elijah snarled out. "Masked men, automatic weapons. They were pros—straight for the security booths, knocked out the cameras. If we'd had no extra men working tonight, they could have slaughtered the whole floor."
I clenched my jaw, surveying the destruction. This was not a hit, a hit was not this sort of complete destruction. This was a declaration of war.
"Who made it out alive?”
“We lost three," he said, his voice taut. "A few more got hurt, but they'll live."
I exhaled slowly, letting the fury seep in, deep, cold, controlled. But in my mind, I was already planning how to dismantle whoever had thought they could mess with us.
Riccardo crashed in then, his usual merry grin nowhere in sight. His shirt was torn, a bruise spreading along his jaw.
“ I swear to God," he growled, shaking his head. "I was about to close a deal with one of our big timers when all hell broke loose. These bastards have no sense of timing."
"Did you recognize any of their faces?" I asked.
Riccardo chuckled. "No, but I ensured a few of them won't be seeing anything ever again."
Good.
I turned to Elijah once more. "Where are the bodies?
"Loading dock. Some of them got away, but we killed a few."
That was all I needed.
I went out to the back, my step unflinching, my heart rate slow. The men had leaned the bodies against each other, four of them. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over them, their masks still on. Not a sound, I knelt, taking one of them off.
Recognition hit at once.
It was one of the Bernadi people.
So, the Bernadi family thought they could creep back out of the shadows and reclaim what they'd lost?
I smiled.
Big mistake.
I composed myself and turned to my guys. "Get me everything we know about the Bernadi family . I want to know where they've been hiding out, who's backing them, and why they decided tonight was the moment to strike."
Elijah nodded, already dialling his phone.
Riccardo crossed his arms. "So, what's the plan, big brother?"
"We send a message," I growled. "One they won't live to mistake.".
The evening hung heavily over me as I sat still in my office at the casino, even the scent of smoky gunpowder still fresh in my thoughts.The adrenaline of dealing with the latest attack had started to wear off, leaving only a searing clarity in its stead.
A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the desk in front of me. The ice had melted long ago, the amber liquid still. My mind was elsewhere, on the reports that would be coming in and soon determine my next move.
The Bernadi family had re-emerged.
I had thought they were still hiding in the background, but they weren't just slinking back into the game quietly. They had decided to make a point, and they had the nerve to do it in my city.
The door swung open, and Michael came first, his left arm bandaged from the altercation before. He barely felt the pain, his face set into a grim line. Elijah followed him, still with debris clinging to his jacket. Dario came third, phone in hand.
I leaned on my elbows against the desk. "Tell me."
Michael dropped a folder onto the table in front of me. "It's official. The Bernadi family has been rebuilding on the sly for six months now. Alessandro's been taking care of it, but their finances? That's not from in-house sources."
I opened the folder and flipped it over. The photographs were poor—grainy, low-res security shots—but they worked. Transactions. Commercial activity. Some names that I recognised, ones that I hadn't expected to find themselves in this position.
"They've been dealing with rogue outfits," Elijah went on. "Smaller gangs that got taken down when we rocked the boat. They're trying to cobble together a crew big enough to take us out."
I learned the names, the locations. Naples. Palermo. Some crews I had driven into bankruptcy myself, and some I had allowed to wither after their bosses made bad choices.
Dario slid over beside me. "There's something else."
I turned to him, waiting.
"We believe they're getting outside assistance. Word is, they've allied themselves with the Russians."
A slow exhale left me as I settled back in my chair. "The Russians?"
Michael nodded. "It's not official yet, but the guns they used tonight? Those don't come cheap. Someone's paying for their rise, and if the Russians are involved, this is more than old grudges."
Riccardo whistled softly. "So we're not only fighting the Bernadi , but we might have an entire syndicate attempting to make a play on our city?"
I didn't respond. Instead, I let the silence build in the room. They'd all seen me angry. They'd all seen me ruthless. But this, this was something different.
They weren't coming at us.
They were coming at our entire legacy.
"They made a mistake," I declared finally, voice strong, controlled. "They thought that attacking our businesses would scare us. That we'd play it safe."
Riccardo laughed. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."
I grabbed my unopened whiskey, twirling the glass around in my hand before setting it down without drinking from it. "First, we sever their lines of supply. I want their funds cut off, their arrangements broken. I want to know every person who is funding them, and I want them dealt with."
Dario nodded decisively. "Consider it done."
"Second," I continued, my tone cold now, "we send them a message. One they can't ignore."
Riccardo's grin increased. "Now you're talking."
I glanced at Michael. "Where is their headquarters?"
"We've tracked them to a warehouse along the docks. Not the only place they haunt, but that's where their people have been gathering the most."
A slow smile curved the edge of my lip. "Good. That's where we start."
I stood up from behind my desk, shoving back in my chair as the decision was made. The room followed me, my men falling into ranks.
But one individual still needed to be informed.
"We're telling Rafael," I said, already standing up and grabbing for my jacket. "Now."
Riccardo complained. "Yeah, he's gonna love this."
Michael and Elijah didn't complain. We knew better than to leave this big a secret from him.
Rafael's home office was in shadows, the light from his desk lamp casting long shadows over the dark wood. He sat behind the desk, a glass of liquor before him, his face already inscrutable as we entered.
I closed the door behind us and didn't waste any time.
"The Bernadi family is back."
Rafael's jaw was pulsating. He didn't even bother to ask me how I had known. He knew better than to ask me to share half-baked guesses.
"Tell me everything."
Michael took a step forward, placing the folder on Rafael's desk. "They've been rebuilding. Quietly, slowly. But they're not just rebuilding old strength, they're building out. And they might have Russian backing."
Rafael's hand curled around his glass.
I leaned forward, my voice steady. “They attacked our businesses tonight. They made their move, thinking we’d hesitate.”
Riccardo scoffed. “Idiots.”
Rafael exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down without drinking it. “And your response?”
I met his gaze. “We’re taking them out. Fast and hard. We’re cutting off their resources and making sure they understand what happens when they come for us.”
Rafael stared at me for a long time, then nodded once. "Do it."
His okay was all I needed.
As I was about to depart, Riccardo snapped his fingers. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Fun wasn't the word I would have used.
This was war. And by the time we'd done, the Bernadi family would not have a single piece left on the board.
The plan went into effect before the sun had even come up.
By the time we reached the docks, our men were already there, each corner covered, each door protected. The air was filled with the smell of salt and petrol, waves lashing the piers, a metronomic beat to the bloodshed to come.
I adjusted my jacket, gun already at my hip. Michael and Elijah on either side of me, faces set, expressionless. Riccardo back of us, restless, his fingers curling as if prepared to battle. Dario already ahead of us, clearing the perimeter with the other men so we wouldn't be walking into an ambush.
We knew where they were.
Now we were going to let them know we were here.
Michael pushed on the side of the creaky old warehouse door first, his gun out, his eyes flicking back at me for the signal to proceed.
I nodded once.
He darted in, forcing his way through, and we trailed after.
Inside, the smell of old wood and dust blended with the acrid odour of gasoline cleaner. It was mostly abandoned aside from the crates along the sides that rested haphazard stacks high, labels faded but still readable. Hijacked shipments. Firearms. Probably some drugs.
And at the centre, waiting for us like he had been waiting for us, stood Matthew Bernadi.
The Don himself.
A slow, patronising smile crossed his face as he spun to welcome us, hands carelessly in pockets. His dark eyes glinted in the poor overhead light, his expensive suit immaculate, as if he hadn't just declared war against us.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "The De Lucas finally arrive."
He tilted his head, glaring at me. "And notice that. They sent the attack dog."
Riccardo growled softly under his breath, but I stood firm, my gaze locked on Matthew's.
He was not just standing there waiting for us.
He was waiting.
And that let me know that we were not running this little show.
Something was off.
The realization struck me a half-second too late.
There was a soft cluck. The unmistakable noise of a dozen guns being cocked.
It was out of the darkness that men emerged, armed and ready, their guns already on us.
We had marched right into their trap.