Page 113 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
It was a promise I had no idea how to keep. But I would try. For my child. For my father. For myself.
Tomorrow, everything would change. Again. Because apparently the universe hadn’t quite finished using my life as its personal soap opera.
I spent the day preparing as best I could, which wasn’t saying much given my limited resources. I found a small backpack and packed it with essentials—a bottle of water, a protein bar, a first aid kit I’d found under the sink (another mysterious addition to my apartment), and a small knife from the kitchen.
“Behold, the mighty arsenal of Ty Hart: Omega Infiltrator Extraordinaire,” I said, zipping the pathetic collection away. “I’m sure the heavily armed mafia guards will be terrified of my protein bar. Maybe I can threaten to give them nutritional advice.”
Sleep was impossible, my mind racing with plans and contingencies, fears and doubts. What if De Luca had moved my father? What if he was already dead? What if I couldn’t find him in the chaos of the assault? What if I ran into the alphas—into Mr. Iceflare, Mr. Enigma, and Mr. Storm?
When evening finally settled, I was wired, adrenaline and determination pushing me forward despite my body’s protests. I dressed in dark clothes, laced up my most comfortable shoes, and pulled my hood up to hide my face.
“Very stealthy,” I told my reflection sarcastically. “You look like a college student heading to a night study session, not aninfiltration specialist. Maybe add some black face paint to really sell the special ops vibe.”
The bus ride to the north side of the city was tense, each stop bringing me closer to De Luca’s compound, closer to my father, closer to the alphas who might be planning their assault even now. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers, one hand resting protectively over my stomach.
“Just get in, find Dad, get out,” I said to myself as the bus neared my stop. “Simple. Like grocery shopping, but with more gunfire and potential for dismemberment.”
Nothing about this was simple, but I couldn’t afford to think about that now. Couldn’t afford to doubt myself. My father needed me. My child needed me to be brave.
I got off at the last stop. The neighborhood was industrial, full of warehouses and factories, most of them abandoned or operating at reduced capacity. Perfect for a criminal organization’s headquarters. Perfect for hiding prisoners.
Perfect for an ambush.
I stuck to side streets and alleys, moving carefully, staying in shadows whenever possible. As I got closer to the compound, I noticed increased security—more guards than I expected, positioned at strategic points around the perimeter. The Trinity’s impending attack was clearly no secret to De Luca.
Which meant I needed to move fast, before the assault began and turned the entire area into a war zone.
There was a service entrance on the east side of the compound that I’d learned about from Megan’s information—a loading dock used for deliveries, typically guarded by only one or two men. If I could get past them, I could access the interior corridors that would lead to the cells where De Luca kept his “guests.”
Where he was likely keeping my father.
I circled around, approaching the loading dock from behind a row of dumpsters that provided cover. Two guards stood by the entrance, looking bored but alert, their hands resting on holstered weapons.
“Shit,” I whispered, ducking lower behind the dumpsters. The loading dock was more heavily guarded than I’d anticipated—two armed men with radios, both looking alert despite the late hour.
I scanned the perimeter, looking for weaknesses. Maybe I could create a distraction? Throw something to draw them away from their post? Or wait for a shift change that might never come? Every option seemed more desperate than the last.
As I weighed my limited choices, a deafening boom shattered the night. The ground beneath me shuddered violently, nearly knocking me off my feet as an explosion ripped through the far side of the compound. Orange flames billowed into the sky, followed by secondary blasts that sent shock waves rippling through the concrete.
The Trinity’s assault had begun.
The guards at the loading dock reacted instantly, drawing their weapons and shouting into their radios. Their attention completely diverted to the chaos erupting across the compound, they moved toward the edge of the platform for a better view, their backs now to my hiding spot.
It was now or never.
I burst from behind the dumpsters, sprinting silently across the open space. The guards never heard me coming—too busy gawking at the fireworks display across the compound. I slipped through the loading dock doors just as another explosion rocked the compound, the sound masking the metallic clang of the door closing behind me.
Welcome to De Luca’s House of Horrors, now with complimentary explosions. The corridors stretched before me,bathed in flashing red emergency lights that made everything look like a budget horror movie. Perfect ambiance for my suicide mission.
I ran through the maze of hallways, dodging panicked guards who barely registered my existence. Funny how people stopped noticing the omega in the room when they thought they were about to die. The air reeked of gunpowder, blood, and fear—a cologne no department store would ever stock but that every mafia compound apparently bathed in.
“Find the security room,” I muttered, pressing myself against a wall as another squad of guards thundered past. “Because, obviously, evil lairs always have a convenient room with maps and prisoner locations clearly labeled. Probably right next to the self-destruct button.”
Turning a corner, I nearly collided with a guard running in the opposite direction. I ducked into an open doorway just in time, my heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer on cocaine. The guard sprinted past, too busy saving his own skin to notice me.
And just like that, I’d stumbled into the security nerve center. Because, apparently, the universe occasionally threw you a bone right before it planned to drop a piano on your head.
The flicker of monitors cast a pale glow across my trembling hands. Each breath, a quiver. Each heartbeat, a deafening drum in my ears. I hadn’t planned for this—stumbling upon the guard room in my frantic search for my father. I was supposed to find him, not bear witness to a war unfolding on screens.
