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CHAPTER TWENTY

Stefano

The abandoned warehouse looms against the midnight sky, its broken windows reflecting moonlight like shattered dreams. Fitting place for what I'm about to do. For the empire I'm about to break.

"Perimeter's secure," Tomasso murmurs beside me as we approach the entrance. "Our men are in position if this goes south."

If. Such a small word for such a massive risk.

I adjust my cuffs. The monster is stirring and I need to control it for now. I push through the rusted doors.

The space inside is vast, empty except for the group waiting in the center. Dramatic staging, meant to intimidate.

Amateur hour.

The Fiori brothers stand like mirror images in their expensive suits, flanked by their soldiers. But my attention catches on the figure kneeling between them.

Tony.

The boy looks like hell, his face bruised, his clothes torn, trembling visibly even from this distance. They've worked him over thoroughly, though nothing appears permanently damaged.

Smart. They knew I'd check.

"Rega." Carlo Fiori's voice echoes in the empty space. "Right on time."

I move forward with measured steps, Tomasso a shadow at my shoulder. Every movement is calculated to project power, control, absolute certainty.

Even if I'm about to give away half my world.

"Let's skip the pleasantries." I stop ten feet away, close enough to see the fear in Tony's eyes. The confusion. The desperate plea for help he's trying to hide. "You have something that belongs to my family."

Marco Fiori smirks. "Family? The boy's just leverage. Like his sister." He nudges Tony with his foot, making him flinch. "Though I must say, she played her part beautifully. Almost had us convinced she was really working for us."

The casual mention of Ava makes the monster in me snarl, but I keep my face neutral. "The deal. State your terms."

"Simple enough." Carlo pulls out a manila envelope. "Sign over the club. Half your southern shipping routes. A few other...considerations we can discuss later."

"In exchange?"

Marco yanks Tony's head back by his hair. "In exchange, baby brother here gets to keep all his fingers. Gets to go home to big sister and your little heir."

The threat lands exactly as intended, making my blood burn with the need for violence. But I can't. Not yet. Not with Tony's life in the balance.

Not with my child's future at stake.

"Show me the paperwork."

Carlo tosses the envelope. I catch it one-handed and examine the contents. Everything appears straightforward—property deeds, transfer documents, all the bureaucratic documentation needed to dismantle my empire legally.

"Please," Tony whispers, voice cracking. "I don't know anything. I swear, I don't?—"

Marco backhands him, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Shut up."

My fingers tighten on the papers, leaving creases in the expensive stock. The monster in me takes note of every bruise, every mark they've left on my brother-in-law. Every debt that will need to be repaid.

With interest.

"The documents are in order." I pull out a pen, a matte black Mont Blanc, because appearances matter, even now. "Release him first."

"Sign first." Carlo's smile shows too many teeth. "Then maybe we will discuss terms for your wife's continued safety as well."

The threat hangs in the air between us. They know about the baby, know exactly which buttons to push.

Think they have all the power.

"Very well." I uncap the pen. "Let's make this official."

Because what they don't know, what Ava never understood, is that sometimes the biggest cons are the ones hiding in plain sight.

And I didn't become the Monster of Chicago by playing fair.

But then everything falls apart.

I see it in Carlo's eyes a split second before everything goes to shit.

The slight shift in his stance. The almost imperceptible nod to his men. The way his smile turns predatory in a way that has nothing to do with business.

"Run!" I roar at Tomasso, already moving as the first gun appears. My shoulder slams into Tony, sending him rolling away from Marco's grasp just as bullets tear through the space where we stood.

Years of violence have taught my body to react without thinking. I drive my elbow up into the nearest guard's throat while simultaneously drawing the ceramic blade from my sleeve. The guard drops, clutching his neck, as two more rush toward me.

"Get him out!" I shout to Tomasso over the chaos, seeing him grab Tony. A bullet grazes my arm, causing hot pain that I barely register. The monster in me is fully awake now, turning every movement into lethal poetry.

The first attacker reaches me with a wild haymaker, an amateur mistake. I duck under his swing, blade opening his femoral artery in one smooth motion. He goes down screaming as I pivot to meet the second man.

This one's better trained. He comes in low, trying to grapple me. I let him close the distance, using his momentum to drive my knee into his solar plexus. The crack of ribs is satisfying, but I don't have time to finish him.

Because Carlo Fiori is drawing a gun.

I dive behind a concrete pillar as shots explode around me, chips of stone stinging my face. Four hostiles down. At least six more, plus the brothers. And my ceramic blade won't do much good against firearms.

Unless...

A figure appears to my left, and muscle memory takes over. I catch his gun hand, forcing it up as his shot goes wide. My forehead smashes into his nose, the crunch lost under more gunfire. But now I have what I need.

His weapon.

"You really think we'd let you walk away?" Carlo's voice echoes through the warehouse. "Let you keep that pretty wife and her brother? Your empire? Your heir?"

I check the gun's magazine. It’s half full. Not great, but it'll have to do.

"Stefano!" Marco's voice drips false concern. "Be reasonable. We can still make a deal. Just you and me, like the old days."

The words are meant to draw me out, make me react. Instead, I use the sound to pinpoint his location. Three pillars over, slightly to the right.

Time slows as I center myself, letting the monster take full control. Every sense heightens. I notice it all—the coppery smell of blood, the echo of footsteps, the subtle shift of shadows that betrays movement.

A guard peers around the pillar to my right. My first shot takes him in the throat before he can cry out. The second catches his partner in the knee as he moves to help.

Five down.

"Kill him!" Carlo's composure finally cracks. "Kill him now!"

I roll as bullets pepper my position, coming up behind another pillar. Two more guards rush to my previous hiding spot, and I take both of them out with ruthless efficiency. Headshot. Center mass. No wasted ammunition.

Seven down.

But I'm running out of time. And options.

Movement above catches my eye—catwalks spanning the warehouse ceiling. Perfect angles for snipers. Which means...

I dive forward just as shots rain down from above. Pain explodes in my shoulder as one finds its mark, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down.

Because this isn't just about survival anymore. This is about Ava. About our child. About making sure these bastards never threaten my family again.

"You're dead, Rega!" Marco's voice is closer now. Confident. "Just like your father. Your brothers. Everyone who ever thought they could stand against us!"

The taunt is aimed to enrage me. Instead, it brings perfect clarity.

I see the whole space in my mind, support pillars, catwalks, exit points. I see the pattern in their movements, the fatal flaw in their strategy.

They think they're hunting me.

Time to show them exactly why they call me Monster.

I move like a shadow, using the pillars for cover as I work my way around the perimeter. Each step is calculated, each breath measured. The pain in my shoulder fades to background noise as I track my targets.

One sniper on the catwalk. Three guards on the ground. The Fiori brothers.

The sniper goes first, dropped by a single shot through the scaffolding, catching him as he tries to track my movement. His rifle clatters to the floor, the sound masking my approach to the next target.

Two more guards go down before they realize I'm behind them. The third manages to turn, eyes widening in recognition before my bullet finds his heart.

Now it's just me and the brothers.

"Marco!" Carlo's voice holds real fear now. "Where is he? Where?—"

I step out from behind the last pillar, gun trained on his head. "Right here."

They spin toward me, weapons raised, but we all know they're too late. Blood runs down my arm, drips from my fingers onto the concrete.

It’s also too late for me. I see it in the devilish smirk in Dante’s eyes just a second before something hits the back of my head.

The blood loss hits like a tide, dragging me down. My knees hit concrete as shapes move around me, voices calling my name from what feels like miles away.

The gunfire becomes a distant buzz, my vision blurring as multiple hands grab me. My body fights—muscle memory, training, the monster inside me refusing to go down easily—but there are too many of them. Too many bodies pressing against me, crushing my wounded shoulder, driving me to my knees.

Pain explodes through my system. Not just from the bullet wound, but from every punch, every brutal strike designed to break my spirit before breaking my body.

I catch glimpses between the blur of bodies—Tomasso moving with Tony, a flash of movement toward the exit. Good. At least they'll be safe. At least my last act will protect them.

"Fucking Rega," someone spits, a boot connecting with my ribs. I taste blood, feel something crack inside me. Probably a rib. Maybe two.

But I'm still watching. Still calculating.

My last thought before darkness takes me is of Ava. Of our child. Of the promise I made to keep them safe.

I hope Tomasso understands. I hope he gets them away from here.

The blows keep coming, each one driving me closer to unconsciousness. The monster in me growls, refuses to surrender completely. But physics has other plans.

One final strike.

And then nothing.

The last image burned into my fading consciousness is Tomasso's back, Tony stumbling beside him, escaping into the warehouse's shadows.

Mission accomplished.

But…not exactly