Chapter 6 - The Night of the Red Uniform
The darkness inside the penthouse was thick, smelling instantly of ozone, burning wire, and the sharp, chemical tang of tactical smoke that began to creep under the nursery door from the main corridor.
Nico was crying now—not the loud, demanding cry of hunger, but the small, suffocating whimper of an infant who sensed the absolute terror of the adults around him. Liana lay flat against the wool rug, her body completely covering the baby's frame, her hands locked over his ears to block out the sudden, deafening sound of automatic gunfire that erupted from the foyer.
The bullets tore through the reinforced drywall of the hallway, the sound like a succession of whip cracks that sent showers of white plaster dust raining down onto Liana’s dark hair.
Matteo was on his knees beside the doorway, his back pressed against the frame. Every time a flash of muzzle fire illuminated the smoke in the corridor, his Walther PPK answered—two short, clinical pops that were instantly followed by the heavy, wet sound of a body hitting the hardwood floor outside.
"They brought thirty men, boss!" Marco’s voice echoed from a portable radio on Matteo’s belt, the signal breaking through a wall of static and screaming. "The Valetti family... they bypassed the sea wall at the docks and used the freight lift! We’re being pushed back into the kitchen!"
"Hold the stairs, Marco!" Matteo roared into the device, his voice cutting through the din of the battle. "If a single one of them gets to the third-floor lift, I’ll skin you myself!"
He dropped the radio, turning his gray eyes toward the shadow where Liana was holding the baby. A flash of lightning from the storm outside caught the side of his face, revealing a deep, bloody scratch across his cheekbone where a piece of shattered plaster had struck him.
"The safe room is behind the pantry on the lower floor," Matteo said, his voice dropping back into that calm, lethal register. "The service lift runs on a separate battery bank. We have to cross the open landing to get to it."
"The baby can't breathe in this smoke, Matteo," Liana said, her voice remarkably steady despite the chaos around them. She had pulled off her white apron, wrapping it gently around Nico’s face to filter out the sharp, acrid fumes of the cordite. "If we stay here, he’ll suffocate before your men can clear the room."
Matteo didn't answer. He reached down, grabbed her by the waist with his left arm, and lifted her to her feet, keeping his right hand free with the gun leveled at the door.
"Stay behind me," he said. "If I fall, you take the keycard from my vest pocket and you run for the shaft. Don't look back."
They stepped out into the smoke-filled corridor. The penthouse had been turned into a slaughterhouse. Three men dressed in dark Valetti tactical jackets lay dead near the elevator doors, their blood soaking into the white marble tiles. As they reached the grand staircase that led down to the main living area, a group of four masked gunmen appeared at the bottom of the landing, their rifles rising in unison.
"Down!" Matteo shouted.
He threw his own body over Liana and the baby, forcing them against the concrete banister as a hail of lead tore through the air above them, shattering the remaining floor-to-ceiling windows. The cold, rainy wind from the river rushed into the penthouse, clearing the smoke but bringing with it the violent, deafening roar of the storm.
Matteo didn't hesitate. He leaned over the rail and opened fire, his shots precise, brutal, and perfectly timed between the attackers' bursts. Two of the masked men fell down the stairs, their weapons clattering against the iron steps, while the remaining two retreated into the shadows of the kitchen.
Matteo stood up, his white shirt completely soaked with rain and blood, his chest heaving as he looked down at Liana.
"The landing is clear," he rasped, his hand reaching out to pull her toward the service lift at the back of the pantry. "Come on!"
They tore through the dark, ruined corridors until they reached the heavy steel door of the freight elevator. Matteo punched in a twelve-digit security code on the biometric keypad, his bloody thumb leaving a dark smear across the glass screen. The door slid open with a heavy hydraulic groan, revealing a small, well-lit cage powered by the independent backup generator.
He pushed Liana inside, but he didn't follow her. He stood on the threshold, his Walther PPK raised, his eyes scanning the smoke behind them.
"Matteo, what are you doing?" Liana cried out, her hand reaching through the iron bars of the lift to grab his wet sleeve. "Come inside! Close the door!"
"My men are still down there in the kitchen, Liana," Matteo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, absolute tone she had grown to respect. He didn't look at her; his eyes remained fixed on the dark hallway where the sound of approaching footsteps was getting louder. "Marco, the boys from the docks... they are dying for my name tonight. A Varric doesn't hide in a bunker while his family bleeds on his floor. I have to finish this."
He turned his head slowly, his deep gray eyes locking onto her face through the iron bars. He reached out a tattooed finger, gently brushing a stray lock of damp hair away from her forehead.
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"If I don't come back before dawn," Matteo whispered, his breath hot against her face, "the codes to the offshore accounts are inside the lining of your baby's blanket. Take Nico. Go to Europe. Keep him safe, Liana. You are his mother now."
Before she could answer, he hit the manual close button on the outside panel, and the heavy steel door slammed shut, locking Liana and the mafia baby away from the world of blood.
