BLOOD ON THE WATER!!

The Mediterranean stretched out like a sheet of polished obsidian, its surface calm and deceptively serene under the faint light of a crescent moon.

The silence of the sea was broken only by the rhythmic churn of engines, low and persistent, as the MV Cesare cut through the waves.

The Cesare wasn't just any massive cargo ship. With its reinforced hull painted in chipped shades of black and gray and the rows of mounted guns on the deck, it was a beast.

The deck bustled with activity.

Men moved with efficiency, their boots thudding heavily against the metal floor as they hauled crates marked with cryptic symbols.

Each crate was sealed tightly, though anyone with knowledge of the underworld wouldn't need to guess what they contained; ammunition, weapons, and enough firepower to arm a small army.

The crew worked in near silence, moving fast but tensely.

Conversations were short, broken by muttered orders and the occasional scrape of steel on steel as crates were secured in place.

At the helm of the ship stood Captain Matteo Bruno, a barrel-chested man with a face carved from years of sea air and hard decisions.

His gray beard was neatly trimmed, but his eyes, sharp and hawkish, missed nothing. Dressed in a weathered navy jacket and a cap pulled low over his brow, Matteo radiated an air of unshakable authority.

He stood on the bridge, staring out at the vast expanse of water. In his left hand, he clutched a cigar that smoldered faintly, the smoke curling around his fingers. His right hand rested on the console, tapping idly against the controls as he spoke into the radio.

"Status?" His voice was low and grave, the kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to command attention.

"Cargo secure," came the reply through the crackling static.

"And the route?"

"Clear," another voice answered. "We're thirty nautical miles from Corsica. No ships on radar."

Matteo grunted, taking a long drag from his cigar. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

Below the deck, the crew continued their work. Men hauled crates, their boots clanging against the metal floor as they secured the cargo. The air was thick with tension, a silence that felt heavier than the usual discipline.

Two young crewmen, Luca and Sergio, lanky and restless, leaned against a stack of crates, taking a rare moment to talk.

"You think it's true?" Luca asked, his voice barely audible over the hum of the ship.

"What?" Sergio replied, lighting a cigarette.

"That this stuff's for the Russians. Heard it's heading to Bulgaria first, then Moscow."

Sergio snorted, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. "Does it matter? As long as we get paid, I don't care if it's going to the moon."

Their conversation was cut short by a sharp whistle from above. "Back to work!" barked one of the officers, a thin man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw.

Luca and Sergio scrambled to their feet, grabbing hold of a dolly loaded with crates.

For a moment, everything seemed calm, but that calm was an illusion.

On the bridge, the radar operator, a lanky man with oversized glasses, suddenly stiffened. "Captain," he called, his voice edged with unease. "We've got something."

Matteo turned sharply toward the console. A blip had appeared on the screen, another vessel, moving fast and heading straight for them.

"Contact," said the radar operator.

Matteo frowned. "Where?"

"Ten o'clock. Closing in fast."

Matteo grabbed the binoculars from the console and peered into the darkness.

At first, he saw nothing but the endless black sea. But then, faintly, he saw the silhouette of another ship, a smaller vessel, cutting through the water and unmistakably heading straight for them.

"Damn it," he growled, lowering the binoculars. "Get me the details."

"Running a check," the operator muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

But the ship wasn't waiting for introductions.

The first shot suddenly came without warning—a deafening roar that shattered the silence. A shell tore through the air, slamming into the Cesare's hull with a thunderous impact.

BOOM!!

Metal screeched and groaned as the ship shuddered violently, throwing men to the ground.

"Return fire!" Matteo bellowed, grabbing the radio. "All hands to battle stations!"

The Cesare's deck guns roared to life, their tracers cutting through the darkness. Men scrambled for cover, shouting orders as explosions lit up the night.

On the smaller ship, Captain Adrian Vorik stood with a steady hand on the railing. His piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating, watched as his crew returned fire with brutal precision. Vorik, a seasoned officer of the European Maritime Task Force

known for his efficiency. Tonight, he had one mission: sink the Cesare.

The Cesare's guns spat fire, but the smaller ship was fast, weaving through the onslaught like a shark dodging harpoons.

Its forward cannons fired again, tearing into the Cesare's midsection.

On the deck, Luca and Sergio ducked behind a stack of crates as another explosion rocked the ship.

"Shit!" Luca shouted, clutching at the metal for support. "What the hell is going on?"

"They're trying to sink us!" Sergio yelled back, his eyes wide with panic.

"Then why the hell aren't we sinking them?"

"Shut up and get up!" Sergio grabbed him by the arm, dragging him toward the nearest ladder. "We've gotta get topside!"

The Cesare's cannons also fired again, sending plumes of smoke and flame into the air. One of the shells struck the smaller ship, tearing a hole in its side, but it wasn't enough. Instead, the attackers returned fire with even greater ferocity, their guns targeting the Cesare's engines.

Below deck, the engine room was a scene of chaos. Flames spread across the walls as crew members scrambled to contain the damage.

"We're losing pressure!" someone shouted.

"Shut it down before it blows!"

On the bridge, Matteo's knuckles whitened around the console. "Hit them harder!" he barked into the radio.

"We're trying!"

The Cesare's cannons fired again, one shot landing squarely on the attacking ship's bow. A plume of smoke and flame erupted, and for a moment, it seemed like a victory.

But the smaller ship recovered quickly, retaliating with brutal efficiency. A barrage of shells tore through the Cesare's stern, hitting the engine room again, this time with devastating force.

"Captain!" the radar operator shouted. "The engines..."

An explosion cut him off, the console sparking violently as the ship lurched. Matteo was thrown against the wall, the cigar flying from his hand.

He hit the wall with a bone jarring thud.

"Captain!"

Matteo staggered to his feet, blood dripping from a cut on his temple. His voice was hoarse but commanding as he shouted, "Abandon ship! Get to the lifeboats!"

The crew scrambled to obey, moving with frantic urgency. They threw open the hatches and cut free the lifeboats as flames consumed the aft section. Smoke billowed across the deck, choking the air as the Cesare began to list.

The smaller ship moved closer, its guns falling silent as the Cesare burned.

On the attacking ship, Vorik watched the destruction through a pair of binoculars, his eyes missing nothing.

He lowered the binoculars and pulled out a black phone from his coat pocket. With a calm expression, he dialed a number and pressed the phone to his ear.

"It's done," he said simply, once the call was answered.

On the other end of the line, a voice answered in smooth Italian. "Grazie. E questo è solo l'inizio."

Vorik smiled faintly. "Understood."

He tucked the phone back into his coat as his ship turned and disappeared into the night. Behind him, the Cesare burned, its remains sinking slowly beneath the waves.