Page 18 of Stefano
Chapter Eleven
Inferno
Stefano
The docks reek of saltwater and diesel.Fog curls low over the black water, swallowing the outlines of cranes and rusted containers.My boots are silent on the wet pavement, my Glock heavy in my hand.Around me, the family moves like shadows, Severu to my right, Mancuso a few paces back, Alceu directing soldiers with clipped gestures.Every man is armed.Every man is silent.The air is thick with tension, the kind that comes before a storm.
But none of them are as dangerous as what’s inside me.
Rage churns in my chest, molten and merciless.Every heartbeat is another second Andrea is tied up in that warehouse, afraid, maybe hurt, maybe worse.The thought claws at me, sharp and unrelenting.I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
They think they can use her against me.They think she’s a weakness.They have no idea what they’ve done.Because Andrea Rossi isn’t my weakness.She’s my reason.And I’ll paint these docks in blood to get her back.
We huddle behind a stack of containers, the warehouse looming a hundred yards ahead.A guard smokes near the door, his rifle slung carelessly across his chest.Another paces, muttering into a radio.
Severu crouches beside me, his eyes sharp.“We’ll need to take them out quiet.No alarms.Once we’re inside, it’ll get messy.”
“Messy works,” I growl.
He studies me, something like worry flickering in his gaze.“You’re not thinking straight, little brother.You’re thinking angry.That gets you killed.It could get her killed.”
I glare at him, my voice low and lethal.“Either help me or stay out of my way.”
For once, he doesn’t argue.He just nods, sliding his knife free, giving me his answer.
Alceu signals.Two soldiers peel off, circling wide.Seconds later, the guard with the cigarette slumps forward, a blade buried in his throat.The pacing one turns, confused, and a silenced round drops him before he can shout.
The path is clear.
We move fast, cutting across the open ground.My pulse thunders in my ears, every sense sharpened.The metal door groans softly as Severu eases it open.Inside, the air is thick with smoke, booze, and sweat, the murmur of voices drifting from deeper within.
I slip inside first, my gun raised, and my body coiled tight.The hallway is narrow, lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs.Footsteps echo faintly from ahead.We move in formation, each step measured, silent, and lethal.
At the first corner, I press my back to the wall, peering around.Two men lounge near a crate, their rifles leaning against the metal.They’re laughing, passing a bottle between them.
Idiots.
I signal.Mancuso slides forward, smooth as a snake, and drives his blade into one throat, muffling the gurgled scream with his palm.I lunge for the other, my knife punching between his ribs.His eyes widen, breath catching, before I twist and let him drop.
The floor is already slick with blood, and it won’t be the last we spill tonight.
Deeper inside, the laughter grows louder.Voices in Spanish, the scrape of cards, the clink of bottles.My chest tightens.Where is she?
We creep closer, every muscle screaming to sprint, to tear through the door and get to her.But Alceu’s hand clamps on my shoulder, grounding me.His eyes are steady.“We go in smart.Not wild.She dies if you rush.”
