Chapter Nine: A Message in Blood

The black sedan moved through the streets in silence. The hum of the engine was the only sound breaking through the suffocating stillness inside. Vincenzo sat in the back seat, his gaze fixed on the passing city lights, but his mind was elsewhere.

A member of his familia had been killed.

Marco's call had been brief, his tone tense. A body had been found in an abandoned warehouse, a bullet clean through the skull. But it wasn't just the death itself that sent a slow, simmering rage through Vincenzo's veins. It was the way Marco had spoken the final words before the call ended—"They left a message."

Who? And why?

Vincenzo exhaled slowly, his fingers resting lightly against his knee. He didn't like acting on partial information. He liked control—knowing every detail before making a move. But tonight, someone had forced his hand. And he did not take kindly to being manipulated.

The car pulled to a stop. The location Marco had sent him was in the industrial district, an area that reeked of oil and rust, where the only people out at this hour were those who didn't want to be seen.

Vincenzo stepped out of the car, the scent of damp concrete heavy in the cold air. Marco was already waiting for him at the entrance of the warehouse, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. His face was cast in shadow, but his eyes flickered with restrained anger.

"It's inside," Marco muttered.

Vincenzo nodded, saying nothing as he followed him in.

---

The warehouse was dimly lit, with only a few flickering lights hanging from the high ceilings. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

Then he saw the body.

The soldier—one of his men, a Moretti foot soldier—was slumped against a concrete pillar, his lifeless eyes staring into the void. Blood had pooled beneath him, still dark and fresh. But it wasn't the gruesome sight of death that sent a chill through the air. It was the note pinned to the corpse's chest.

Vincenzo moved closer, his gloved fingers brushing against the folded piece of paper. He opened it slowly.

"We're watching you."

Beneath the words, drawn in ink, was a single rose.

A calculated move. A taunt.

Vincenzo felt a sharp, familiar heat rise inside him—anger, controlled but potent, the kind that hardened into something lethal. He folded the note carefully, his expression unreadable.

Marco exhaled beside him. "Who the hell does this?"

Vincenzo's jaw tightened. "Not just any gang. This was deliberate. Meant to be seen."

A silence settled between them.

"Do you want me to start making calls?" Marco asked after a beat.

Vincenzo didn't answer right away. He stared at the dead soldier, the blood cooling on the floor. This wasn't just a warning—this was a declaration. Someone was bold enough to come for his people.

His people.

And they thought he wouldn't respond?

His fingers curled into a fist.

"No." His voice was calm. "Not yet."

Marco frowned. "Boss?"

"We're not moving blind," Vincenzo said. "First, we find out who."

Marco hesitated, then gave a sharp nod.

---

An hour later, Vincenzo sat in one of his safe houses, the dimly lit room alive with the glow of multiple screens. Theo was hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as he tapped into every data source he could access.

"Whoever did this isn't sloppy," Theo muttered, eyes scanning the code flashing across the monitor. "They don't want to be found."

Vincenzo sat back, watching the screen with cold patience. "Nobody is invisible, Theo."

Theo smirked slightly. "True. But some people are harder to reach than others."

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic tapping of keys. Then—

"There." Theo's voice sharpened, his gaze locking onto a file that had just surfaced.

Vincenzo leaned forward. "What is it?"

Theo enlarged the image on the screen. It was a surveillance still—grainy, but clear enough. A man, dressed in a dark coat, exiting a vehicle near the crime scene. And on the exposed skin of his wrist was a tattoo.

A rose.

A slow exhale left Vincenzo's lips.

"I ran it through databases," Theo continued, pulling up more files. "The emblem is linked to an old mafia family that operates from the shadows. They don't move like the others—no flashy displays, no reckless violence. They deal in quiet control."

Vincenzo's eyes darkened. "Who are they?"

Theo tapped the screen one last time.

Vitore.

The name settled heavily in the room.

Marco, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "The Vitore family… I've only heard whispers. People say they're connected to the highest levels of the Alliance, but no one really talks about them."

Vincenzo's expression remained unreadable. He had known that the Alliance was vast, but if the Vitore family was involved, it meant one thing—they were sending him a message.

He exhaled slowly, standing.

"They intercepted one of ours," Vincenzo said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's time we send them something back."

Marco's eyes gleamed. "What do you have in mind?"

Vincenzo turned to Theo.

"Their operations," he said. "Find out what they're moving, where they're vulnerable."

Theo didn't hesitate, his fingers already flying across the keyboard again. It didn't take long before he found something.

"They have a shipment coming in," Theo said, eyes flicking over the details. "A high-value cargo vessel bringing in… weapons, diamonds, gold. Straight from a war zone in Africa."

Vincenzo let out a low chuckle.

"So they fund war, too?" he mused. "Of course they do."

His expression darkened.

"They burned my man," Vincenzo said. "Now we burn theirs."

---

Vincenzo stood on the rooftop of a high-rise building, watching as the flames engulfed the cargo ship in the distance. Thick smoke billowed into the sky, the water below reflecting the inferno like a second sun.

Theo had worked fast, overriding the ship's navigation systems, disabling its security protocols. With a single command, the ship had gone up in flames, its entire cargo reduced to ash.

Vincenzo watched the fire, his hands resting lightly in his coat pockets. This wasn't just revenge. This was a declaration.

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

No one took from the Moretti without consequence.

As the flames raged on, Vincenzo's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, answering without looking at the screen.

A voice spoke on the other end, quiet and unreadable.

"…We see you, Moretti."

Vincenzo's lips curled into a slow, cold smile.

"Good," he murmured. "Then watch closely."

And he hung up.