Chapter 8 – Flames of Vengeance

The night of the strike arrived faster than anyone expected.

Dark clouds rolled over Palermo, casting the city in shadows as thunder rumbled in the distance. It wasn't just a storm in the sky—it was a storm about to descend on the mafia underworld.

Warehouse 19 stood at the edge of the docks, surrounded by towering cargo containers and armed guards. Inside, crates of weapons, ammunition, and explosives were stacked from floor to ceiling.

This was Petrov and Giovanni's nerve center—the heartbeat of their entire operation.

Luciano stood on a rooftop across the street, binoculars in hand, eyes sharp and calculating.

"All teams, check in," his voice crackled over the comms.

"Perimeter secure," Marco reported. "No one's getting out."

"Entry team ready," Sergio added, loading his rifle. "Just say the word."

Ariana's voice came through next, steady but laced with tension. "I've got the financial systems on standby. The moment you give the signal, their funds go into freefall."

Luciano smirked. "Perfect."

---

The Calm Before the Storm

As Luciano scanned the warehouse, his gaze caught movement near the back entrance.

Two guards. Armed. Sloppy.

"Amateurs," he muttered.

But then—something else.

A shadow moved differently. Not a guard. Not part of their crew.

"Hold," Luciano whispered.

He zoomed in.

A figure in black... slipping past the guards... heading inside.

"What the hell...?" Luciano narrowed his eyes. "We've got an unknown on-site."

"An ally?" Marco asked.

"Or someone stupid," Sergio growled.

"Doesn't matter," Luciano replied. "We move in sixty seconds. No mercy."

---

The Assault Begins

"Go."

At Luciano's command, chaos erupted.

Suppressors hissed—guards dropped before they could scream.

Sergio's team breached the side entrance, sweeping through like shadows of death. Marco's crew pinned down the outer perimeter, cutting off reinforcements.

Explosions rocked the east wall—grenades blowing through metal.

Inside, panicked screams echoed as mercenaries scrambled for weapons, only to be cut down by precision fire.

Luciano dropped down from the rooftop, landing behind a patrol. Two quick shots—clean headshots—the men collapsed without a sound.

The smell of smoke, blood, and burning oil filled the air.

But then—gunfire from inside. Heavy gunfire.

Not directed at Luciano's men.

"What the hell's going on inside?" Sergio barked.

---

A Ghost from the Past

Luciano kicked open the office door at the back of the warehouse, expecting to find a stash of documents or another target.

Instead… he found her.

A woman—tall, fierce, dressed in tactical black, holding a pistol over three dead bodies.

Her raven-black hair was tied back; her eyes were like daggers. And those eyes snapped toward Luciano the moment he stepped in.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then she smirked. "Took you long enough."

Luciano blinked, lowering his gun a fraction. "Who...?"

"The name's Valentina Romano." Her voice was rich, confident. "And trust me... you're not the only one who wants Giovanni dead."

Luciano's mind raced.

Romano.

A rival mafia family—wiped out years ago.

Or so everyone believed.

Valentina holstered her pistol. "You're not the only one back from the dead, De Luca."

---

The Clock is Ticking

"Status?" Ariana's voice crackled in his earpiece.

Luciano shook off the shock. "Warehouse secured. Move the funds. Now."

"Copy that," she answered, fingers already typing furiously from the safety of the penthouse.

On her screen, numbers tumbled—millions shifting from offshore accounts into dead-end holdings. Petrov's empire crumbled in real-time. Giovanni's war chest bled dry.

"Done," Ariana exhaled.

Back at the warehouse, Marco grinned, kicking open a crate. "Jackpot. Enough firepower to take over Palermo twice."

Sergio wiped blood from his blade. "Burn it."

Luciano glanced at Valentina. "You coming?"

Her grin widened. "Wouldn't miss it."

---

Flames Against the Night

Minutes later, the first fire ignited.

Flames spread like wildfire, devouring crates of weapons, swallowing metal beams, and exploding ammunition. The sky lit orange as fire danced against the storm clouds.

Luciano stood at a distance, watching the empire of his enemies turn to ash.

Ariana's voice whispered over the comms. "It's... beautiful."

Luciano didn't smile. "It's necessary."

---

But Peace Never Lasts...

Just as the fire consumed the last of Warehouse 19, Luciano's phone vibrated.

A message.

No number.

Just four chilling words:

> "You made a mistake."

Attached was a photo.

Ariana.

Taken from outside the penthouse.

Luciano's blood turned to ice.

His jaw clenched.

His hands curled into fists.

"No... not her."