Page 211 of The One
But he’s not here anymore.
It’s time I learn how to stand alone.
The ink sinks deep, marking me in ways beyond the skin. The laurel wreath wraps around the lion like an unbreakable vow.
You are not weak. You are not a boy anymore.
I clench my jaw, riding the sting, the burn, the steady rise and fall of my breath.
Angelo pulls back, wiping away excess ink and blood. The final design emerges, bold, unshaken, unbreakable.
It’s done.
And so am I.
Done letting the past hold me hostage. Done being the boy who flinches at the slightest presence of blood.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
But tonight?
Tonight, I became the man who lets nothing stand in his way.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Mateo
The night air is crisp against my skin when I leave Angelo’s house. I straddle my Harley, feeling stronger, more in control than I ever have.
Antonio has to be dealt with. Tonight, before he fucks anything else up.
I roll my shoulders, exhaling slow and even.
I should call Rom. It would be smart to have backup getting into Antonio’s place. But if I can’t handle one man on my own, I don’t deserve to be Don.
A leader doesn’t shirk responsibility. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate. He faces the threats head-on and eliminates them. That was Tiero’s way, and he excelled at it.
So I grip the handlebars, flexing my fingers once before twisting the throttle. The growl of the engine mirrors the fire in my chest.
It’s time.
Antonio won’t see me coming. Though on this bike, he might hear me.
I drive to my storage shed on the outskirts of Rome. It’s more than a secret parking spot for my Fiat; it’s a gateway to the dark web. Behind a false wall, I’ve set up a high-tech hub, discreet but perfect for what I need.
I power up my computer, multiple screens flickering to life as I bring up the architectural drawings for Antonio’s house in Parioli.
This is the kind of business I prefer, clean, precise, and far from the chaos of street-level dealings. Antonio always liked to joke about me not wanting to get my hands dirty. Well, tonight, my hands and everything else will be completely involved in his demise.
I soon find exactly what I need. I pore over the plans, committing every crucial detail to memory. The element of surprise is on my side, as is the fact that I’ll be going solo. It might just make things easier.
I gather the necessary equipment and pack it neatly into a black duffel bag. Then, I change out of the suit I’ve been wearing all day and slip into black combat gear. It’s a thermal-blocking fabric with adaptive camouflage, and an infrared-absorbing coating, all designed to thwart night vision and thermal imaging. I tuck a balaclava in the same material into my pants pocket for later.
The beauty of this secluded location is that no one will hear a thing. Even if there were neighbors, this place is soundproofed. I cover a far corner with plastic sheeting, knowing I’ll be making a mess later. Cleanup will be quick and easy. No need for the cleaning crew this time.
One last check. Everything’s in place.
I grab the duffel bag, heading for my black Porsche Taycan Turbo S. It’s a high-performance sports sedan with an electric motor that doesn’t announce my arrival. At low speeds, it’s as silent as a shadow, but when I need it, it accelerates from zero to sixty miles per hour in about two point four seconds. Perfect for a job like this.
