Chapter 2 - The Ambush of the Lower West Side
"Don't move, Reichi!" a harsh voice barked from behind the lead weapon. "Hands where we can see them, or the kid gets sprayed first."
Matteo’s body didn't stiffen. Instead, his muscles coiled, a terrifying calmness settling over his features. He didn't turn around immediately. He kept his body positioned as a physical shield between the gunmen and the little girl on the stairs.
"Mia," Matteo said in a low, even tone that brooked no argument. "Close your eyes and count to ten. Do not open them until I tell you to."
The little girl squeezed her eyes shut, her tiny shoulders shaking as she began to whisper, "One... two... three..."
Matteo slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto the three intruders. He recognized the tactical gear—it wasn't police. The insignias had been scraped off, but the weapon models were standard issue for the Marcone syndicate, his primary rivals for the western shipping docks.
The man on the kitchen floor hadn't been a random abusive husband. He was a setup. A pawn used to draw the elusive Matteo Reichi out of his heavily fortified estate and into a vulnerable, low-income district without his usual security detail.
"Don Marcone sends his regards," the lead gunman sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger of his submachine gun. "He said you always had a soft spot for this garbage neighborhood. Who knew a wrong-number text would be the thing to finally kill the King of Chicago?"
"You think this is a game of chess, don't you?" Matteo said, his voice dropping into a register that made the air in the room feel heavy, almost suffocating. He didn't raise his hands. Instead, he slowly let his overcoat slide off his shoulders, revealing the custom twin holsters beneath his arms. "You think you brought me into a trap. But you forgot one very important detail."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"You brought three men to a slaughterhouse," Matteo whispered.
Before the gunman could pull the trigger, the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to come alive. A heavy, silenced round shattered the window behind the intruders, tearing through the neck of the lead shooter before he could even register the sound. He collapsed forward, his weapon firing a useless wild burst into the ceiling plaster.
Vincent and two of Matteo’s elite enforcers burst through the broken window and the rear kitchen entrance, their weapons drawn and firing with lethal, military precision.
The remaining two Marcone hitmen tried to pivot, but they were caught in a crossfire of heavy-caliber rounds. Within four seconds, the foyer fell silent again, save for the thud of falling bodies and the smell of cordite mixing with the copper tang of blood.
Vincent stepped over the bodies, his weapon lowered, his sharp eyes instantly assessing the room. "We got the perimeter secured, Boss. Dr. Charles’s ambulance is parked in the alley. The Marcone family had a tail on your sedan, but we cut them off three blocks back."
"Get the woman out first," Matteo ordered, his voice steady as he picked up his overcoat and shook off the plaster dust. "Take her to the private clinic in the North District. No records. No names. Understood?"
"Understood," Vincent said, gesturing to the medical team waiting outside.
Matteo turned back to the stairs. Mia was still sitting there, her eyes tightly shut, her tiny voice whispering, "...eight... nine... ten."
She opened her eyes slowly. The bloody scene below had been quickly covered by Vincent’s men with heavy canvas tarps, but the smell of gunsmoke was unmistakable. She looked at Matteo, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror.
"Is... is it safe?" she whispered.
Matteo walked up the stairs, knelt in front of her, and gently took the cracked phone from her hands. He looked at the chat window—his own private number, a sequence of digits known only to a few powerful men, typed by a terrified child who had likely guessed a digit wrong in her panic.
"It is safe, Mia," Matteo said, his expression softening as he reached out and gently patted her head. "The bad men are gone. Your mama is going to a special hospital where they will make her all better. And you are coming with me."
"With you?" Mia asked, looking at his dark clothes and the hard lines of his face. "Are you a prince?"
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A low, rare chuckle escaped Matteo’s lips—a sound his men hadn't heard in years. Vincent looked over in absolute shock, his jaw dropping slightly.
"No, little one," Matteo said, lifting her gently into his arms, wrapping her tiny body in his large overcoat. "I’m not a prince. I’m the monster that keeps the other monsters away. Come on. Let’s go home."
