Chapter 61 Rocco
The instant we stepped into the warehouse, I knew something was wrong.
Dozen guns held, circled around us in a circle. The blinding red factory lights creating shadows on the steel walls, and the gun-toting men looking more like ghosts than hitmen.
It was a trap. A masterfully constructed one.
Matthew Bernadi stood at the centre of it all, arms crossed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Dark suit, polished shoes, he was always well dressed, but his eyes were sharp, measuring. The type of man who liked to have someone else do the dirty work and sit back and enjoy the show.
"Elijah," I murmured to myself, my gaze locked on Bernadi. "How many?"
Elijah, who had already gauged our location, answered quietly. "At least twenty. Some on the catwalks, some behind the crates. All of them armed."
Michael, standing to my left, drew a slow breath. "And we led ourselves right into it."
Bernadi smirk widened, as if he had overheard it all. He took a slow step forward, his polished shoes clicking on the pavement.
"Rocco De Luca," he said, nodding his head. "I've got to say, I'm impressed. Most men in your position would be on their knees by now, begging for their lives."
I did not move. Did not even blink.
Instead, I let my gaze sweep around the room, memorising it, calculating the odds. They outnumbered us, of course. But we were not ordinary men.
We were De Lucas.
And De Lucas did not surrender.
Bernadi’s eyes glinted with something like amusement before he theatrically sighed. "You've been a pain in my ass, you know that?" He gestured lazily to his men. "And now, thanks to you, I'm stuck cleaning up a mess I never wanted in the first place.".
I remained calm. "Is that the reason you set up this little trap? Figured you'd kill me and dispose of me?"
His smile never wavered. "Oh, Rocco. If I intended to have you dead, you'd be dying on this floor already."
Elijah moved beside me, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Michael, as well.
I curled my fists. I knew how this was accomplished—when a man such as Bernadi did something such as this, it was because he had something to prove.
Which is that he was still deciding.
Still weighing his alternatives.
He was not sure whether killing me here was his brightest move.
That was an error.
I was able to work with indecision.
"You speak too much, Greco," I said, tilting my head. "If you intended to kill me, you would have done it by now."
The amusement deepened in his eyes.
"I like savouring moments like these," he admitted, drawing closer. "Men like you… men who think they are above the law… you fall the hardest."
The tension within the room spiked. His men tightened their grips on their weapons, their thumbs resting over the triggers.
I needed to move.
Now.
With the rapidity of a man who had spent his entire life in conditions like these, I reacted.
In one, quick motion, I drew the gun holstered at my hip and fired.
The shot echoed through the warehouse like a peal of thunder.
The man closest to me dropped before he could even react.
And then hell was loose.
Pistol shots rang out from all directions.
Elijah and Michael also moved swiftly, seeking shelter behind the crates and shadows and shooting back. I ducked down, rolled over a stack of wooden pallets, and eliminated another of Bernadi’s men before he could lift his gun.
Shouts and curses echoed in the room. The atmosphere reeked of the harsh scent of smoke from smouldering gunpowder and blood.
I moved carefully, every shot finding its mark. Bernadi’s men were strong , but we were stronger.
A bullet whizzed past my ear. Too close.
I whirled around, firing twice—one in the chest, one in the head. Another body hit the ground.
Michael winced as a bullet grazed his arm, but he didn't waver. Elijah dispatched two men in swift succession, his motion quick, merciless.
Bernadi was retreating.
I saw him amidst the confusion, backing away towards a side door as his men gave him cover.
Coward.
I forced my way forward, taking cover from bullets, dropping anyone who got in my way and between me and my target.
But before I could reach him—
The warehouse door slammed shut behind him.
I swore, taking out the last of his men. Then there was only the hiss of fire consuming its way up the walls from a ruptured gas canister.
Bernadi had slipped away.
Temporarily.
I inhaled deeply, my pulse normal despite the chaos we'd just survived.
Michael wiped blood from his cheek. "That son of a bitch will be harder to track down next time."
Elijah reloading, his expression unreadable. "Then we make sure there isn't a next time."
I gritted my teeth, nodded.
Bernadi had fired his shot.
Now it was mine.
By the time we got back to the estate, the adrenaline was still coursing strongly through my veins. The ride had been silent, all of us attempting to put together what had just happened, what it meant. The attack at the warehouse had not been a coincidence. Bernadi had known we were coming. He had his men set up. That meant one thing—
We had a mole.
I gritted my teeth as I drove down the driveway. The compound was quiet, its massive walls and metal gates a testament that this was one of the few remaining places where you were safe. At least, for the moment.
Michael exited first, rolling his shoulders and grumbling a curse as he stepped out. The blood on his arm from the graze he'd taken was drying already, but I could tell he could feel it. Elijah was cooler, his motions rapid and snappy, as he looked about and entered.
I lagged behind, my mind a decade ahead already.
Rafael was in his office, where I had hoped to find him. He stood behind his desk when we entered, a glass of whiskey held in his hand. He glanced up the moment we entered, his dark eyes narrowing.
"You're back," he said, setting his drink aside. "Which means it didn't go as planned."
I closed the door behind us. "We were ambushed."
His face didn't change, but I knew my brother well enough to notice the change in his posture. The way his fingers jerked just a little bit. The tension in his shoulders.
"Tell me everything," he said.
I spoke immediately . "We got there, and Bernadi was already waiting. A dozen guns were trained on us the minute we walked in. It was a setup from the start." I rested against the desk, my voice dropping. "They had been expecting us, Rafael. They were waiting."
There was silence in the room, heavy and suffocating.
Rafael drew a slow breath, his fingers tapping on the wood of his desk. "That means—
“There’s a mole,” Elijah said, cutting in.
Rafael’s jaw tightened. “One of ours?”
Michael scoffed. “Who the hell else?”
My eyes stayed on Rafael. “There’s no other way they could’ve known. Someone tipped them off.”
He ran a hand down his face, frustration clear in every movement. “And you’re sure it was Bernadi?”
I nodded. “He was there, waiting. Enjoying the whole damn thing like it was a game.”
Rafael remained silent for a long while, then he turned around, grasping the whiskey glass again. This time, he didn't drink it. He downed it before setting it back on the desk with a crash.
"Get to the bottom of it," he instructed, his tone firm, but with a hint of steel. "I don't care what it costs. If we have a rat in this family, we eliminate it."
I nodded again. "Consider it done."
Michael touched his hair, remaining furious. "We can start with the guys who were part of the attack. It wasn't a big circle."
"Right," Elijah contributed. "The one who betrayed us would have to be someone with direct access."
Rafael looked at me. "And Bernadi? Did you get him?"
I clenched my fists. "I almost got him." My voice was deep, controlled. "He got away. But it won't happen again."
A dark smile creased Rafael's face. "No, it won't." He breathed in deeply, standing there and surveying all of us. "First, we catch the rat. Then, we make him an example."
His words hung in the air, a warning of things to come.
Someone had betrayed us.
And whoever he was… they were not going to live long enough to be sorry.