Page 22 of The Price of Mercy

Luca was already moving, pulling a shirt from the closet and tossing it to Matteo. “Get dressed,” he repeated, his voice brooking no argument. “We’ll check the usual spots. Enzo’s not an idiot. If something’s going down, he’ll have left a trail.”

Matteo nodded, his movements jerky as he pulled the shirt on, his mind still racing. He grabbed his gun from the nightstand, checking the clip with practiced ease before shoving it into the waistband of his pants. His heart was still pounding, but the fear was starting to give way to something else; anger. Whoever had called him, whoever had threatened his brothers, they were going to regret it.

The man in the bed watched them, his eyes wide with fear. “Matteo…” he started, but Matteo cut him off with a sharp look.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and firm.

The man nodded, though he looked like he wanted to argue. Matteo didn’t wait for a response. He was already following Luca out the door, his mind focused on one thing: finding Enzo.

The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows stretching long and ominous as they moved through the house. Luca was already on the phone, barking orders to the men stationed around the property. Matteo barely registered the words, his thoughts consumed by the call, by the voice, by the silence on the other end of Enzo’s line.

They reached the front door, and Luca paused, turning to Matteo with a hard look. “We’ll find him,” he said, his voice steady. “But you need to keep your head. If this is a setup, we can’t afford to walk into it blind.”

Matteo nodded, though his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides. “I know. But if anything’s happened to him…”

“It won’t,” Luca interrupted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “We’ll find him.”

Matteo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to nod. Luca was right. They couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. But as they stepped out into the night, the cool air doing little to calm the fire burning in his chest, Matteo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

And he was going to find out what.

Chapter 15

Blood in the Streets

The restaurant was one of Enzo’s finest establishments; dimly lit, exclusive, and exuding an air of quiet power. The scent of seared meat and aged wine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of expensive cigars. Seated at a private booth near the back, Enzo swirled a glass of deep red wine in his hand, his sharp green eyes assessing the men gathered around him.

At the table sat three of his closest associates: Ricardo, a seasoned enforcer with graying temples and a permanent scowl; Marco, a lean man with quick hands and an even quicker temper; and Salvatore, the quietest of them all, but the deadliest with a blade. They spoke in low voices, discussing business, recent tensions in the city, and a potential deal that needed delicate handling.

“The shipment came in last night,” Marco murmured, stabbing his fork into his steak. “No problems on our end.”

Enzo nodded, setting his wine down. “Good. And the Colombians?”

Ricardo exhaled through his nose. “They’re pushing boundaries. Our docks aren’t secure enough for their liking. They want guarantees.”

Enzo’s jaw tightened. “They’ll get the same guarantees we’ve always given; our word and our presence. If they need more, they’re looking in the wrong fucking place.”

Salvatore, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “We should be careful. Someone’s been stirring the pot lately.” His dark eyes met Enzo’s. “Feels like someone wants a war.”

A chill of foreboding settled over the table. Enzo drummed his fingers against the polished wood, considering. “Let them try,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “If they want a war, they’ll get one. But on our terms.”

They finished their meal without further discussion, though the tension remained thick. Enzo settled the bill with a nod to the waiter and rose from his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp black suit.

The moment he stepped outside, the city air hit him; a mixture of gasoline, fresh bread from the bakery down the street, and the ever-present weight of something unseen. He inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. The street wasn’t too crowded, but the presence of his guards nearby ensured no one got too close.

Then, without warning, the first shot rang out.

Glass shattered. A woman screamed. Tires screeched as cars attempted to speed away from the chaos. The metallic scent of gunpowder filled the air, thick and suffocating.

Enzo barely had time to react before another bullet whizzed past his ear, embedding itself in the brick wall beside him. Hisinstincts kicked in and he ducked, reaching for the gun holstered beneath his jacket as his guards sprang into action.

“Down!” someone shouted.

The air exploded with the deafening thunder of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off metal poles and shattered car windows, sending shards of glass flying through the air like deadly rain. A black SUV parked nearby took several hits, the tires bursting with a sharp pop, its alarm blaring in protest. The acrid scent of burning rubber mixed with the chaos, making the scene feel even more suffocating.

One of Enzo’s guards collapsed with a grunt, blood blooming across his chest as he crumpled onto the sidewalk. Enzo barely had time to register it before another round of bullets forced him to move. He crouched low behind a parked car, his heart hammering but his hands steady as he assessed the situation.

Across the street, he caught sight of the shooters; masked men, at least four of them, moving in coordinated formation. Professionals. Not some low-level thugs trying to make a name for themselves.

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