Night fell over Palermo like a shroud. The city's lights shimmered against the wet streets, reflecting in the puddles like broken glass.
Damian stood on the rooftop of an abandoned hotel overlooking the docks, the wind tugging at his coat.
Below, the warehouse Matteo had traced pulsed with movement—trucks, guards, and the faint glow of floodlights cutting through the fog.
Luca crouched beside him, scanning the perimeter through binoculars. "They've doubled security. Whoever's inside, they're expecting trouble."
"They should," Damian said. "We're bringing it."
Matteo adjusted the earpiece in his ear.
"La Serpe's inside. She arrived an hour ago. Salvatore's not with her."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "Then she's running the operation."
He checked his weapon, the metal cold against his palm. "We go in quiet. No mistakes."
The team moved like shadows through the alleys, slipping past the guards with practiced precision. The air smelled of salt and diesel, the hum of the sea blending with the distant rumble of thunder.
At the warehouse door, Damian signaled for Matteo to cut the power. The lights flickered once, then died, plunging the docks into darkness.
"Move," Damian whispered.
They entered through the side entrance, boots silent on the concrete. Inside, the space was vast—rows of crates, vehicles, and cages. The sound of muffled voices echoed from the far end.
Damian motioned for Luca to take the left flank. He advanced toward the center, his gun raised. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw them—dozens of men and women, bound and blindfolded, sitting on the floor. Recruits.
A voice drifted from the shadows. "You shouldn't have come here, Moretti."
Damian turned. A woman stepped into the faint light of a lantern, her hair dark as ink, her eyes sharp and cold. She wore black leather gloves and a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"La Serpe," Damian said.
She tilted her head. "Your father used to call me by my real name."
"Then he made a mistake."
She laughed softly. "Lorenzo always did. He thought loyalty could be bought. But loyalty is fear, Damian. And fear belongs to those who understand power."
"You think Salvatore understands power?"
"I think he understands you," she said. "He knew you'd come here. He wanted you to see what he's building."
Damian's grip tightened on his gun. "An army of slaves?"
"An army of believers," she corrected. "Men and women who've lost everything because of your family's war. Salvatore gave them purpose. You gave them enemies."
Before Damian could answer, a shot rang out. One of the guards fell, and chaos erupted. Luca's team stormed the floor, gunfire flashing in the dark.
Damian dove behind a crate, returning fire in sharp bursts.
La Serpe moved like smoke, vanishing between the shadows. Damian followed, weaving through the maze of crates until he caught sight of her near the loading bay.
She turned, firing twice. The bullets grazed his shoulder, tearing through his coat. Damian lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. The gun skidded away.
They struggled, her knife flashing in the dim light. Damian caught her wrist, twisting until the blade clattered to the floor. He pinned her down, breath ragged.
"Where is Salvatore?" he demanded.
She smiled through the pain. "Closer than you think."
Before he could react, she slammed her head into his, breaking free. She grabbed the knife and slashed at his arm, drawing blood, then sprinted toward the exit.
Damian fired once. The bullet struck her leg, sending her crashing to the ground. He approached slowly, gun raised.
"Tell me where he is," he said.
La Serpe looked up at him, her eyes burning with defiance. "You'll find him when he wants to be found. And when you do, you'll understand why your father had to die."
Her hand moved suddenly—pulling a pin from the grenade at her belt.
Damian dove back as the explosion tore through the loading bay, fire and debris filling the air. The blast threw him against the wall, his ears ringing, smoke choking the room.
When the dust settled, La Serpe was gone. Only blood and fire remained.
Luca rushed in, coughing. "Boss! You all right?"
Damian pushed himself up, wincing. "She's gone. But she left us something."
He pointed to a half‑burned folder lying near the wreckage.
Matteo picked it up, flipping through the charred pages. "Coordinates. Multiple sites. One of them's marked with your family crest."
Damian's eyes hardened. "Then that's where we go next."
Outside, the flames from the warehouse lit the night sky, reflecting in Damian's eyes like the promise of war.