Chapter 64

Aldo

The echo of gunfire ricocheted off the opulent walls of the Moretti estate, transforming the once-pristine mansion into a war zone. Smoke curled from the tips of shattered sconces, and the acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air. I crouched behind an overturned table, my jaw set and my gun poised.

I needed to get Layla and Eli out. That was all that mattered. I needed to keep Marco distracted while my wife and child ducked from couch to sofa to shelf, making their way safely to the exit.

And to do that … my gaze shifted to Marco, who’d taken cover behind a towering bookshelf on the side of the room. The man’s mocking voice carried through the chaos, sharp and cutting.

“You think you’ve won, Aldo?” Marco sneered. “This isn’t over. It’s never over with us.”

My grip tightened around the pistol in my hand. “You’ve lost, Marco. You’re cornered.”

“Am I?” Marco’s laughter was cold, cruel. “It’s funny how quickly a man forgets who he can trust.”

I frowned as the soft pat of footsteps echoed behind me. “Aldo.”

Slowly, I turned to face my former bodyguard—the one I thought I’d taken out in my initial dive for him. The man whose betrayal had led to Eli’s capture—to this whole mess.

Now, he lifted a gun, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

For an instant, I could only stare in disbelief. It was one thing to share information, to sell it. But to lift a gun to the face of a man you’d once called brother …

My mind flashed through the memories: the bodyguard’s calm demeanor, his steady hand in dangerous situations, his silent yet unwavering presence. All of it a lie.

“This is your fault,” I murmured. “All of this. And if my son or my wife don’t make it out of here alive, that will be your fault, too.”

The bodyguard shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Business is business, Aldo. Marco made me a better offer. You’ve been too soft lately. People are starting to notice.”

“Soft?” I rose, slowly, from my cover. “You kidnapped my son. You put Layla in danger. And for what? Money?”

“For power,” the traitor said simply, his voice devoid of remorse. His gun dropped the barest inch.

I didn’t hesitate.

In a single, fluid motion, I lifted my gun and pulled the trigger.

Crack!

The shot rang out, sharp and deafening through the cozy room. The traitor’s smirk disappeared as his body jerked backward. He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

I stood over him, gun still aimed, my breath slow and steady. Trained to keep calm and cool, collected, in the face of anything. There was no satisfaction, no relief. Only a simmering rage.

“This is on you,” I muttered, voice low. I turned back toward the firefight, my focus now entirely on Marco.

The battle continued to rage, bullets flying in every direction as my men clashed with Marco’s. But I moved with purpose, precision, weaving through the chaos with deadly focus. I had one goal: end Marco’s reign of terror.

Marco, cornered but not defeated, glared at me from behind his makeshift barricade. “You think this ends here?” he spat. “You’re a fool, Marcello. You don’t understand what you’re up against.”

“Maybe not,” I said, tone cold. “But I understand this.”

My gun cracked again.

Marco dove.

Bullets blazed around us. Ricocheted off furniture, walls, decor.

“This is a new low,” I called after Marco. “Even for you. You think you can come after my family?”

“Family.” Marco’s face flitted briefly into view from behind another bookshelf. “Such a quaint notion. Tell me, Aldo—how far are you willing to go for yours?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. My gun spoke for me. A single shot rang out as I aimed for Marco’s shoulder—but the man was faster than he looked.

He ducked behind another shelf, just in time to avoid the bullet.

Sudden silence fell. Marco didn’t move from behind this shelf, and for a moment, I thought this might be it. The end. The start of his surrender—

His cool voice rang out. “This isn’t over, Aldo. You’ll regret this.”

His hand shot from behind the case, and before I registered the object in his fingers, the smoke grenade exploded. Thick plumes of grey curled up from the floor, filling the room in an instant.

My vision blurred to white as smoke choked my lungs.

“Damn it!” I covered my face, blinking back tears. My eyes burned, throat burned, lungs burned. “Run, Layla!”

I couldn’t see her through the smoke. Couldn’t hear her through my own coughing. But I knew her. I knew she’d be running for that door. For safety. Eli at her side.

“Aldo!” The faint cry barely reached my ears.

“I’m right behind you!” I bellowed back through the burn in my throat. My legs pumped to carry me towards the exit. “Go!”

The sudden wave of fresh, smokeless air left me dizzy, coughing, choking on relief. Ahead of me, Layla and Eli stumbled through the grass, gasping, bent double as they fought for breath.

“You okay?” I asked, my eyes scanning each for injuries as I hurried up behind her.

“We’re fine,” Layla said, her voice shaking. “What about Marco?”

My jaw tightened. “I lost him. I needed to make sure you got out.”

“Well, we’re out.” Layla’s voice was rough, broken, from the smoke still grating against our lungs. “Thanks to you.”

“You got yourself out,” I told her, and it took everything in me not to fold her into my arms, to assure myself she was alive and safe. Instead, I knelt down to Eli’s level. “All right, buddy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

Around us, the estate had fallen eerily quiet. The acrid scent of smoke hung heavy around us, and several of my guards stumbled and coughed as they emerged from the war-torn building. My own chest heaved as I surveyed the damage.

Carlo appeared at my side. “Marco got away.”

“I know.” My voice came out tight, frustrated. But what had I really expected. “That fucking cockroach.”

Carlo nodded. “And the traitor?”

“Dead,” I said flatly. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

“Well, guess that’s one good thing to come out of this,” said Carlo, his mouth twisting in a grim sort of satisfaction. “One less traitor to worry about. To root out.”

I dragged a hand through my hair. Refusing to speak the words that echoed through my mind. How were there so many? Was my reign truly so insecure? First Aurora, now one of my most trusted guards?

How was Marco getting to them?

“Aldo.” A warm hand on my shoulder pulled my attention to Layla’s face. She looked tired, deep circles etched beneath her eyes, but her mouth softened into a smile. “It’s all right. We’re safe now.”

“For now,” I echoed. “But how long until the next attack?”

Her mouth tightened, but she merely shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know I’m not the same woman Marco kidnapped last time.”

“No,” I agreed. “You’re not. And he knows that now, too. He’ll think twice before he tries anything rash anytime soon.”

“Right.” Layla nodded, and her eyes strayed from my face to land on Eli. “And I know whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. As a family.”

That word echoed, too. In a different way. Family.

I liked how that sounded.