2026-04-11 16:42:42The smoke from the Cohiba cigar curled in the air like a dancing ghost beneath the crystal chandelier of the Volkov family mansion. Elias Volkov leaned his head back against the plush leather chair, letting the warmth of a thirty-year-old whisky coat his throat. Before him, the sweeping view of the city at night looked like scattered jewels—and all of it lay beneath the heel of his polished shoe.
"The world is far quieter without the noisy clamour for justice shouted by that boy," Elias murmured, his lips curving into a thin, dismissive smile.
"Matteo De Luca is finished, Sir," replied a lean man in a charcoal grey suit sitting opposite him. This was Viktor, the Consigliere known as the architect behind the Volkov Clan's money laundering operations. "The hospital reports he's suffering from severe depression. He refuses to speak, refuses to eat. His idealistic character shattered along with his apartment. He's no longer a threat, just historical refuse waiting to be discarded."
Elias gave a quiet, dry, sharp laugh. "That's the problem with honest men, Viktor. They think principles can withstand an explosion. Now, focus our energy on consolidation. I want every port in the south under our control before winter. If any small rivals try to protest, give them the same 'gift' Matteo received."
Just as Viktor was about to reply, the heavy study door opened without a knock. The snake-tattooed Assassin entered with heavy steps, his usually expressionless face now showing a hint of tension.
"Sir," his voice rasped.
Elias raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Ivan. What is it?"
Ivan placed a tablet on Elias's desk. On the screen, a red warning flashed: REMOTE ACCESS DETECTED - DE LUCA ARCHIVE.
"Someone just hacked the hospital server and tried to access the old De Luca clan archives," Ivan reported. "The access used a prosecutorial authority code that should have been frozen."
The atmosphere in the room instantly chilled. The whisky glass in Elias's hand stopped moving. "When?"
"Thirty minutes ago. The perpetrator was quite skilled; they erased their IP trail in seconds, but our early warning protocol caught the tremor."
Viktor frowned. "Could it be his colleague? Isabella Rossi?"
"Not her," Elias interjected, his eyes now gleaming with wicked intelligence. "Isabella is too obedient to procedure to hack a hospital system. There is only one person desperate enough and knowledgeable enough about those old codes." Elias paused, then his grin returned, this time more sinister. "So, the little mouse still has the nerve to crawl through the darkness? Interesting."
"Should I send a team to the hospital now?" Ivan asked, his hand instinctively touching the knife hidden at his waist.
"Don't," Elias waved his hand. "Let him feel safe for a moment. If he's searching for something, let him find it. I want to know who else dares to ally themselves with the walking dead."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the run-down city, the night wind cut through the cracked window of a cheap motel room. Matteo De Luca sat on the edge of the musty bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had just returned from the hospital after an agonizing escape.
He hadn't left through the front door. He used the medical waste disposal chute, crawling through in a pain that blurred his vision, before disappearing into the crowd at the bus stop.
In his hand, he held an old mobile phone he had acquired from an illegal SIM card dealer in the black market. He had sent an encrypted message to an old radio frequency once used by his father for emergency communication—a channel that should have been dead for ten years.
Matteo waited. Every second felt like a clock ticking in his chest. His body trembled, not just from the cold, but from adrenaline and lingering trauma.
Bzzzt...
The phone vibrated. A message arrived containing geographical coordinates and one short sentence.
"Vincenzo Moretti is in Venice. Running a small catering business called 'La Serenissima'. Too cowardly to be a mafioso, too honest for this world. – The Keeper."
Matteo's eyes fixed on the name. Vincenzo Moretti. The shadow accountant of the De Luca clan. The man who held the keys to all the hidden vaults and the list of city officials indebted to them. If anyone could provide Matteo with capital to build his force, it was Vincenzo.
Matteo stood, walking towards the small, tilted mirror on the bathroom wall. He slowly peeled back the bandages covering the left side of his face.
Under the dim light bulb, he stared at his own reflection. The left side of his face was a grotesque sight—blistered and bruised skin, scar tissue forming strange patterns from temple to lower jaw. Even his earlobe was slightly disfigured by the heat of the explosion.
He no longer recognised the man in the mirror. The handsome, clean-cut young prosecutor had burned away, leaving something darker, harder, and more lethal.
"You see this, Elias?" Matteo whispered, his voice now deeper and hoarser, like metal scraping against metal. "This face is a gift from you. And I will return it to you... with immense interest."
He picked up a small pocket knife, then without hesitation, he etched a thin line across his healthy palm. Fresh blood dripped onto the dirty wooden floor.
"Vincenzo Moretti," he muttered again. "He thinks he can hide behind flour and tomato sauce in Venice."
Matteo grabbed his black backpack containing a small amount of cash and fake identity documents he had prepared in the hospital, under the name Luca Moretti. He pulled the hood of his jacket low, hiding the destroyed side of his face in the shadows.
He stepped out of the motel room without looking back. He was no longer a law enforcement officer seeking justice beneath the bright lights of a courtroom. He was a ghost crawling through the sewers, ready to poison the wellspring of the Volkov clan's power.
Matteo's heavy footsteps echoed through the silent motel corridor. Each step was a promise of death. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat of war.
"Come on, Vincenzo," he whispered as he stared into the night darkness that awaited him outside. "Time for us to sail towards hell."
As Matteo stepped into the train station en route to Venice, he didn't realise that in the distance, a black car with tinted windows was following him from a very safe distance. Inside the car, Ivan the Assassin watched Matteo's back through digital binoculars, his lips forming a thin smile. He wasn't catching Matteo now—he was leading Elias to the last hiding place of the De Luca clan.
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Chapter 19
The heavy silence in the forest eventually ceded to the rhythmic hum of Isabella’s dark SUV, a stark contrast to the earlier screech of tires and hurried footsteps. The vehicle moved with a smooth, almost stealthy grace, eating up the winding roads that cut through the still, sleeping landscape. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the lingering, metallic tang of fresh blood. Matteo, propped awkwardly in the back seat, felt every jostle, every subtle shift of weight, like a hammer blow against his fractured ribs and throbbing head. Vincenzo, still unconscious, lay sprawled across the second row, his breathing shallow, a new, clean bandage stark white against the dark hair on his forehead.Isabella drove with a quiet focus, her profile illuminated intermittently by the fleeting streetlights. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with an easy competence, her eyes scanning the road ahead and the rearview mirror with a vigilance that spoke of long-honed instinct. She
Chapter 18
The pine forest on the outskirts of Basel knew no mercy. The trees stood close together, holding back the moonlight until only a thin sliver broke through between the stiff branches. Wind descending from the Jura mountains carried the smell of wet earth and pine resin, masking the sharper scent beneath it: engine smoke, burning rubber, and blood.The rental car had come to rest after striking the trunk of an old pine tree nearly two meters thick. The hood had crumpled upward like the jaw of a creature forced open, releasing thin white smoke that rose slowly into the night sky. The windshield had cracked from corner to corner, leaving a pattern like a frozen spiderweb.Vincenzo Moretti sat in the front passenger seat, his head resting to one side. A long gash ran across his forehead, blood flowing slowly down over his left eyebrow. His breathing was shallow but steady. He was unconscious, not dead.In the back seat, Matteo De Luca was in far worse shape. He had tried to protect himself
Chapter 17: Game on the Surface
The cold sensation prickling at Matteo's neck was not the chill of the Basel night air, but the blade of a knife pressed gently behind his ear. The whisper was barely audible, coming from directly behind him, masked by the hum of the rental car's engine, which now seemed deceptively trivial."Welcome to the real game, Maestro," the voice continued, slightly clearer this time, yet maintaining its silken edge. "You thought you were the hunter, but in truth, you are the hunted."Matteo froze. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from physical pain, but from the sudden jolt of tension. Vincenzo, sitting beside him, flinched, his eyes wide as he realized the unexpected threat inside their vehicle."Who are you?!" Matteo hissed, fighting to keep his voice steady even as he felt the muscles in his neck tighten. He didn't dare move, fearing it would trigger a reflex from his assailant."I am the shadow you created yourself, Matteo," the voice replied, sounding more distinct now. "The shad
Chapter 16: Meeting in Basel
The cold, crisp air of the Alps felt refreshing in the lungs of Matteo De Luca, who had just left behind a Florence now in turmoil. The Eurocity train carrying him from the Italian border to Basel, Switzerland, moved smoothly across a stunning green landscape.Beneath the hood of his raised jacket, Matteo stared out the window, but his gaze was not fixed on the beautiful scenery. His eyes were focused on the reflection of his own face in the glass—a constant reminder of the destruction caused by Elias Volkov.He no longer felt the cold. His body, tempered by Nico and strengthened by his own rage, now felt like an efficient machine. Every movement, every breath, was calculated. He had left Florence, leaving behind a trail of chaos that confounded Volkov’s forces, granting him precious time to reach his destination: Switzerland.Beside him, Vincenzo Moretti, who seemed far calmer than usual, was busy typing on his laptop. He had managed to obtain crucial information regarding the locati
Chapter 15: Symphony of Death in Oltrarno
Florence, which had once been merely a stage for Matteo’s revenge, had transformed into a genuine battlefield. After disposing of Ivan, Matteo wasted no time. The diversion plan designed by Nico began to unfold with the precision of clockwork.That night, three locations in Florence linked to the Volkov operation were struck simultaneously. A logistics warehouse in Oltrarno was engulfed in flames following a suspicious gas leak.The office of a corrupt judge associated with Volkov was broken into, and every document and digital file vanished without a trace. Meanwhile, at the Florence police headquarters, a high-tech smoke bomb detonated in the archives, sparking chaos and forcing a mass evacuation.Matteo, now hidden behind a false identity prepared by Vincenzo, watched from a distance. Each explosion, every panicked news report, was a note in the symphony of destruction he was orchestrating. Elias Volkov had to be feeling the shockwaves.Everything is under control, Maestro, Nico’s v
Chapter 14: Storm at the Gates
The air inside Il Silenzioso’s basement felt stifling, no longer from the scent of old books or gun oil, but from a thick, suffocating tension. News of Ivan’s death and the discovery of the Swiss vault key had accelerated the ticking clock of war."He is coming to destroy you. Piece by piece. Exactly as you did to Ivan." Nico’s words echoed in Matteo’s ears, carving a grim promise into his mind.Suddenly, a loud thud sounded from the floor above, followed by a subtle tremor that rippled through the stone walls. Vincenzo jumped from his chair, his eyes wide with fear."What was that?" he whispered, his voice raspy.Nico didn't answer. He simply tilted his head, listening. Then, from a small radio mounted on a shelf, static erupted, followed by an emergency broadcast."...all units, all units. Reports of suspicious activity in the Florence area have increased sharply. Several checkpoints have been established on the city's main routes. There are reports of harassment toward civilians su
