Page 48 of Mafia Kingdom

We burst from cover, sprinting between containers, using the fog as concealment. The sound of gunfire intensifies, bullets ricocheting off metal with deafening pings. One of my men goes down immediately, a shot to the leg, but two others drag him back to safety.

I press forward, trusting my instincts more than my vision in the treacherous fog. A shadow materializes to my right—I fire twice, dropping the figure before they can raise their weapon. Another appears ahead, and I take them down with a clean headshot.

We're making progress, working our way through the labyrinth of containers, when a grenade lands six feet ahead of me.

"Grenade!" I shout, diving backward.

The explosion rocks the ground, sending shrapnel flying. Pain slices across my forehead, warm blood immediately running into my eyes. I wipe it away, disoriented but still moving.

“We’ll draw fire to the north perimeter.” Tony’s voice crackles over the radio.

“Good,” I shout back, the fire is drawn away, and we move again. Single shots are fired, and Ricco, who's been with us since the beginning, takes a shot to the throat; young Mateo, barely twenty-two, catches a burst to the chest. Good men, loyal men.

I fight with cold precision, each shot calculated, each movement deliberate. This isn't my first firefight, but it might be the most personal. Someone set us up, someone with intimate knowledge of our operations, and they'll pay for every drop of blood spilled tonight.

Finally, we reach the warehouse. I kick in the side door, weapon raised, expecting more resistance. Instead, we find the shipment intact—crates of high-grade military weapons, exactly where our anonymous caller said they would be.

"Clear!" I call, motioning for my men to secure the perimeter.

Tony joins me inside, breathing hard, blood seeping from a cut on his arm. "Jesus Christ," he gasps, surveying the weapons. "They're all here. Why go through all this trouble just to leave the prize behind?"

It's a good question, one that gnaws at me as we quickly inventory the shipment. Nothing seems to be missing, nothing tampered with. This was no ordinary hijacking attempt.

"It was a test," I conclude, realization dawning. "Or a message."

Tony watches as I inspect one of the rifles. "From who?"

"That's what we need to find out. Any survivors? I ask, not hearing any more gunshots.

Tony shakes his head. “None so far.”

I focus on what’s in front of me, and we work quickly, loading the weapons into our vans that were stationed on the east side of the docks, as the men are loading them, I take a moment to check on the wounded—several men with various injuries, but all will live. The dead we wrap respectfully, to be given proper burials. Even in our world, we honor our fallen.

I catch my reflection in a puddle of rainwater—blood streaking down from a cut above my eyebrow that bleeds like a motherfucker but is otherwise minor. My suit is ruined, torn, and stained beyond salvation.

"Who the fuck set us up?" Tony asks, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

I wipe blood from my face, surveying the carnage around us. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

Tony's expression darkens. "Your father?"

"Working theory," I say, though I'm not entirely convinced. My father's brutal, but he's never been wasteful with his resources. Losing good men just to teach me a lesson seems extreme, even for him.

"We need to move the shipment," I tell him. "Split it up, different locations."

He nods, already barking orders into his phone.

I check my watch—almost four in the morning. Dawn will break soon. "I'm heading back. Call me when everything's secure."

Tony gives me a knowing look."Be careful, Marco," he says.

“You too.” I fire back over my shoulder.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Marco

I DRIVE BACK to the house in silence. I have to keep wiping the blood from my eye that still streams down my face.

---