The morning sun pierced through the dense leaves, but Matt barely noticed. His mind was a storm of yesterday's screams, Ferus's words, and the haunting image of his family lying broken on the sand. Every step he took on the forest floor felt heavy, each leaf crackling underfoot like a warning.
Ferus had stayed quiet for most of the night, only breaking the silence to whisper fragments about the island's past. Matt couldn't sleep. He kept reliving the gunfire, the blood, Gabriel's red-stained shirt. His fists tightened as he remembered every second, every sound.
"They'll come back," Ferus said suddenly, voice low, almost afraid to say it. "The men… they always come back."
Matt's chest tightened. "And when they do… I'll find whoever ordered this. Whoever killed my family. I'll—" His voice caught, throat raw. "…I'll kill them all if I have to."
Ferus's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, then softened. "Including me?"
Matt blinked. "No, dummy… you're part of my family somehow."
For a moment, the forest held its breath. Then Ferus let a small, shaky smile appear, though Matt could see the tension behind it.
"I need to know everything about this island," Matt said, finally. "How did your grandfather get it? What heroic thing did he do? Why is it so valuable?"
Ferus hesitated, then began, his voice calm but carrying weight. "Your grandfather… he saved the entire village from a disaster no one else could stop. A storm… and then a flood. He risked his life for everyone, and the crown—the island—was a reward. People want it now… not because of what's on it, but because of the power it represents. Whoever controls it can control the trade, the fishermen, the tides, everything."
Matt listened, absorbing every word. His fists unclenched slowly, but his eyes remained fierce. "Then I need to survive. Not just for me… but for them. For my family."
Ferus placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you will. But… two days from now, they'll come again. You need to be ready."
Matt didn't answer. He was already scanning the tree line, imagining the shadows returning, the roar of engines, the silhouettes of men he hated before even meeting them.
They didn't notice the glint of metal in the distance. The men were already coming, silent, precise… and Ferus stiffened.
"They're here," he whispered. "We have to move. Now."
Matt's heart jumped. "Run?"
Ferus nodded sharply. "Yes. Hide. Don't stop. And don't look back."
The forest became a blur as they fled. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, the engine's growl grew louder behind them. Ferus ran faster, but then a shout rang out—a hand grabbed him—and suddenly he was gone.
Matt didn't stop. He couldn't. But as he vanished into the shadows, a single thought burned in his mind: what would happen to Ferus? Would he live… or die?
And somewhere deep inside, Matt felt the first spark of something he had never known before—vengeance had begun to take root.
Matt didn't stop running. The forest blurred around him—the trees, the underbrush, the occasional glint of sun on broken leaves. Every step threatened to betray him, every snap of a twig was a countdown to discovery. His lungs burned, but he didn't care. Behind him, the faint roar of engines grew louder, the crack of branches snapping under heavy boots echoing like gunfire in his mind.
He remembered Ferus's face as the hand had grabbed him. The sudden jerk, the shout, the metal of a gun glinting—Matt's stomach twisted. He wanted to stop, to turn, to fight—but instinct screamed at him to move. Survival first. Answers later.
His legs carried him down a narrow path along the reef, the waves slapping against the jagged rocks below. He stumbled once, catching himself on a jagged tree trunk, skin tearing, blood mixing with the salt air. He didn't cry. Not yet. His heart hammered so loud he could hear it in his ears over the distant engines.
And then, in the chaos of running, a memory forced itself into his mind.
Flashback – The Day Before
The villa had been alive with laughter. Gabriel's silly jokes, Poppa T's wine, Odette's giggle like wind chimes in summer. Matt could almost hear it again—the music, the smell of sizzling steaks, the sunlight hitting the pool just right. And then the shadows came.
He remembered Poppa T swinging his arms, shielding his mother. He remembered Gabriel's scream. He remembered the red stain blossoming on his brother's shirt. And the smell—the smoke, the iron, the sharp tang of blood that had never left his nose.
Matt sank to the sand that night, gripping the mangled kite. Fourteen years old, alone, the moon watching him like a silent witness. He could still feel the tide licking his legs, mocking him, whispering that he was powerless.
End Flashback
Matt's hands went to his face, smearing the dirt and sweat, trying to make sense of it all. And somewhere deep in him, anger sparked. It wasn't just grief. It was fire. A plan forming, sharp and cold: whoever had done this would pay. Every last one of them.
He shook his head violently, forcing the thoughts back into focus. Ferus. Ferus was gone. He had to find him. He had to survive to do it.
He ducked under a low-hanging branch, cutting his cheek, blood trickling down his temple. The sounds of pursuit grew closer. Not just the engines this time—the men had split up. Someone was searching on foot.
Matt slowed for a moment, heart hammering. He pressed himself against a rock face, trying to become invisible. His ears strained. Footsteps. Heavy boots crunching through underbrush. A voice muttered. He couldn't make it out.
And then, he froze.
A shadow emerged from the trees ahead. A gunman, tall, masked, gun raised. The man paused, scanning. And then—he moved on. Not seeing Matt.
Matt exhaled slowly, holding back a sob. He had survived. But just barely.
He kept moving, crawling under fallen trees, leaping over roots, sliding down slopes toward the beach. Saltwater stung his wounds. The sky above was beginning to fade, the last sliver of sun slipping behind the horizon. Night would help him—but night could also hide predators.
Finally, he reached a small cove, hidden by rocks and thick palms. He collapsed behind a boulder, gasping for air, tasting blood and salt in his mouth. His hand touched the sand beside him, and he felt something—a memory from the night before, Odette's apron, brown and singed. He closed his eyes and imagined her laughing again, as if the world hadn't ended.
"Why…" he whispered to the empty beach, "why my family?"
A wave licked at his feet. Saltwater, ash, and grief all mixed together. The world had gone silent except for the tide.
Matt pressed his forehead into his knees. For a moment, he let himself cry. Silent, shaking sobs that no one would hear. And then he remembered Ferus.
He couldn't cry anymore. He had to act.
The Island's Secret
Matt pulled himself up, scanning the horizon. He thought back to Ferus's story—the heroic deed, the storm, the flood, and the reward: the island. It wasn't just land. It was power. The villagers owed their lives to his grandfather, and the men who had come weren't just thieves—they were mercenaries sent by someone who wanted absolute control.
And that someone… Matt realized slowly… was still out there. Don Leonardo, back in Italy, the name Ferus had whispered. A man with reach, influence, and a hand in blood. And now he had a boy—Matt—left behind from the Salvador family.
Matt's hands clenched into fists. "I'll survive… for them. For the island. For justice."
He didn't know how, but the determination settled deep into his bones, cold and relentless.
The Return of Shadows
Two days later, Matt was hidden in the dense mangroves near the village. He had scavenged for food, slept in a hollowed tree trunk, and avoided the main paths. Every sound made him flinch. Every shadow could be another gunman.
And then… he saw them. Engines slicing through the trees. He pressed himself to the ground. Heart hammering. The men had returned.
Ferus was ahead, trying to divert their attention, but Matt's heart froze as he saw the gunmen move faster, surround him. Ferus was grabbed—struggling—but the men were stronger, trained, ruthless.
Matt couldn't move. He watched, frozen, as his friend—the one person who had taken him in, who had comforted him when he cried—was pulled into the shadows.
"No!" Matt shouted, but the words were swallowed by the roar of engines and the crashing of leaves.
He had a choice: fight and die with Ferus, or escape and survive.
Survival won. He turned, sprinting along the hidden paths he had memorized. Behind him, he could hear Ferus's struggle, Ferus's shouts, the men's commands.
But Matt didn't look back. Not yet.
All he knew: he had survived… but Ferus was in their hands. And Matt couldn't help him—not yet.
As he ran into the night, the wind whipping past him, Matt's mind burned with one thought: he would come back. And nothing—nothing—would stop him.