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Antonio.

My breath stutters as I see my brother alive again, even if just on a screen. He looks worn—tense, on edge. He stands with a few men.

Suddenly, a canister clatters across the concrete floor, spinning before releasing a thick cloud of gas that quickly spreads through the warehouse. The men inside react instantly—hands going to masks, bandanas, anything to shield themselves. Antonio pulls his biker mask over his face, eyes narrowing as the haze swallows the room. The edges of the footage blur slightly from the fog, but the tension only sharpens. This wasn’t just a meeting. It was an ambush.

Then the warehouse door bursts open with a loud metallic bang. Figures step through the thick haze—shadows at first, until the camera adjusts.

My world tilts.

“He was there…” I barely hear my own voice.

I watch in a trance as he strides forward, his presence commanding even in the grainy footage.

Matteo emerges from the smoke like it parts just for him, moving with the kind of confidence that makes everyone else seem like background noise. His son is right behind him with a few other men, hands resting on their weapons.

As soon as they cross the threshold, they pull masks over their faces in one smooth, practiced motion—like they’ve done this before. Like they knew exactly what they were walking into.

Behind Matteo, his men fan out in swift, deliberate strides—ghostlike through the swirling gas, their silhouettes distorted in the flickering light. Everything is chaos: smoke clings to the floor, the hum of static from the footage cuts in and out, and every figure is masked, indistinct. It’s impossible to tell friend from foe.

Suddenly, a man lunges from behind a support beam, grabbing Daniele and pressing a gun to his head. Matteo reacts instantly—raising his weapon, aiming directly at the man.

“Put the gun down!” Matteo’s voice is firm, commanding, even through the haze of static audio. His gun doesn’t waver. He’s trying to talk the man down, waiting for the moment.

Daniele’s eyes are wide, locked on Matteo.

And then—before Matteo can shoot, another figure leaps into the frame from behind, moving fast, colliding with him.

Even through the grainy footage, I recognize the way he moves.

Antonio.

My breath stops.

He slams into Matteo with full force, knocking him off balance. The two of them crash to the ground, grappling as Daniele seizes the distraction. He slams his elbow into the attacker’s ribs, twisting hard, and manages to knock the gun away.

The fight splinters in two directions.

Daniele wrestles with the armed man, fists flying, until he grabs a broken pipe from the ground and slams it into the man’s skull. The body slumps.

But Matteo is still struggling.

He and Antonio are locked in a brutal, fast-paced fight. Blows land hard. Grunts, the scuff of boots, the static buzz of the footage. Neither is holding back.

Antonio throws a punch that nearly connects, but Matteo ducks, slamming him into a crate.

The camera shifts just enough to catch the flash of a blade in Antonio’s hand.

Matteo knocks it aside and reaches for his gun—but Antonio grabs his wrist. They wrestle, limbs locked, struggling for control. Somewhere in the blur—a gun catches the light. It shifts between them, caught in both their hands.

The camera trembles too hard to follow, turning the moment into a fever dream of chaos.

A shot rings out. Loud. Sudden.

A single, deafening crack that cuts through the static and smoke.

“No…” My fingers brush the screen just as someone pulls the trigger.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. No one breathes. The smoke swirls like a curtain over a stage, obscuring the cost.