Chapter 9 - The Bloodline of Duca
The assault on the sixty-fifth floor was swift, brutal, and terrifyingly violent.
From inside the reinforced bathroom, Elena huddled against the far marble wall, holding the small pistol with both trembling hands, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The soundproofing muffled the initial sounds, but soon, the heavy thud of automatic gunfire, breaking glass, and screaming voices tore through the penthouse walls.
CRASH!
A heavy explosion rocked the entire top floor, sending dust filtering down from the ventilation shafts. The lights flickered violently before plunging into complete darkness, leaving only the red emergency backup lights illuminating the bathroom through the crack beneath the door.
Elena squeezed her eyes shut, silent tears streaming down her face. She prayed—prayed to whatever god was listening to spare the man she loved, prayed that Matteo's arrogant confidence wasn't his undoing. She remembered what Dominic had told her earlier that day: Whatever he considers his, he protects with absolute, terrifying violence.
Outside, the living room had turned into a war zone.
Matteo moved through the dark shadows of his home with terrifying, lethal efficiency. He knew every corner, every pillar, every shadow of the penthouse. Beside him, Dominic provided heavy suppressive fire, keeping the corridor clear while Matteo systematically eliminated the Marcone hitmen as they poured out of the damaged elevator shaft.
"Boss! Two more on the left balcony!" Dominic yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire.
Matteo didn't answer. He vaulted over the overturned mahogany dining table, coming up behind a heavily armed intruder, driving a tactical knife cleanly through the man's vest before firing two quick rounds into the second gunman coming through the glass terrace doors.
Blood splattered across the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, mixing with the rain pouring outside.
The firefight lasted ten grueling, agonizing minutes. The luxurious penthouse was systematically reduced to ruin—shattered glass covered the black marble floors, heavy bullet holes riddled the expensive artwork, and smoke hung dense and acrid in the cold air.
When the last gunshot echoed into silence, a heavy, suffocating quiet descended upon the top floor.
Matteo stood in the center of the ruined living room, his white shirt torn and stained with dark blood—none of it his own. His breathing was heavy, his grip on his weapon unyielding, his eyes scanning the bodies littered across his floor.
Dominic slumped against a marble pillar, reloading his empty magazine, letting out a long, bloody cough. "That's all of them, boss. The lower security grid just reported that the main force downstairs has been completely wiped out by our backup teams."
Matteo didn't care about the backup teams downstairs. He lowered his gun, walking past the wreckage, his boots crunching loudly over broken glass, heading straight toward the master bedroom suite.
He reached the reinforced bathroom door, placing his hand over the biometric lock scanner.
The electronic latch clicked softly.
"Elena," Matteo called out, his voice raspy and deep. "Code alpha-zero. Open the door."
Inside the dark bathroom, Elena heard the code. She dropped the pistol onto the marble floor, scrambled to her feet, and unlocked the heavy door from the inside, throwing it wide open.
Matteo was standing in the doorway.
He was covered in blood, his clothes torn, smoke clinging to his shoulders, looking every bit the terrifying, dangerous mafia don she had feared for eighteen months. But when his dark eyes locked onto hers, seeing that she was unharmed, the terrifying fury melted away, replaced by an expression of pure, overwhelming relief.
Elena didn't hesitate for a single second. She threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the curve of his blood-stained shoulder.
Matteo caught her fiercely, pulling her against his body, lifting her off her feet, pressing his face into her hair, his heart hammering against her chest in heavy, frantic thuds.
"I have you," Matteo whispered, his voice trembling with rare, terrifying emotion as he squeezed her tight. "I have you. You're safe."
"I was so scared," she sobbed into his neck. "I thought... I thought I lost you..."
"You will never lose me," Matteo declared with absolute, dark conviction, kissing her face, her cheeks, her forehead, verifying every inch of her skin was untouched. "I told you, Elena. Nothing in this world can tear you away from me."
He carried her out of the ruined bathroom, walking back into the master bedroom, setting her down gently on the unmade bed, away from the shattered glass and debris of the living room.
Dominic appeared in the doorway, holding a satellite phone. "Boss, the clean-up crew is on the elevator. The police commissioner has already been notified to redirect all precinct calls regarding the noise. What are your orders for the Marcone territory?"
Matteo turned his head slowly, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, unforgiving vengeance.
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"Call every capo in the city," Matteo commanded, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute death. "Tell them the Marcone family no longer exists. By sunrise tomorrow, I want every warehouse, every docks facility, and every member of their bloodline eliminated from this state."
Dominic nodded grimly. "Understood, boss."
