Chapter 5 - The Fall of Marcus Vane’s Men
A black-clad figure swung through the shattered window, boots crashing directly into the chest of the nearest thug. The sheer force drove the man into the cheap coffee table, snapping it in half in an explosion of splintered wood and flying comic books.
Before Scar Face could turn his weapon, the apartment door was kicked off its remaining hinges.
Matteo stepped through the frame, a sound-suppressed pistol raised in a two-handed grip.
*Pfft. Pfft.*
The second thug dropped instantly to the linoleum, clutching his knee and screaming in agony.
Scar Face whirled, his revolver tracking toward Matteo, but the operative who had entered through the window was faster. A heavy tactical baton whipped through the air, striking Scar Face’s wrist with a sickening crunch. The revolver went flying across the floor, sliding to a stop against my refrigerator.
Scar Face roared in pain, dropping to his knees and cradling his broken arm.
Within four seconds, the violent invasion had been dismantled with surgical brutality.
Matteo lowered his weapon, his silver hair immaculate, his tailored coat without a single speck of dust. He glanced at the window, where two tactical ropes hung from the rooftop, then looked at me.
"Two minutes," Matteo said checked his watch. "One minute and forty-eight seconds, actually. You timed it well, Miss Riley."
I leaned against the kitchen counter, my knees finally giving out. I slid down to the floor, the iron skillet clattering beside me. My heart was pounding so violently I couldn't draw a full breath.
The bathroom door slowly cracked open. Toby peeked out, his face drained of color, his eyes huge as he took in the broken glass, the blood on the floor, and the groaning men in tactical restraints.
"Riley?" he squeaked.
"I'm here, Toby," I gasped, crawling toward him and pulling him into a fierce hug, burying his face in my neck so he wouldn't see the bleeding men. "Don't look. Close your eyes, Toby. Close your eyes."
Matteo walked over to Scar Face, crouched down, and gripped the man's chin with gloved fingers, forcing his face up.
"Marcus Vane is getting sloppy," Matteo said quietly. "Sending street hounds to track an alley cat. Tell me, Sal... did Marcus really believe he could butcher Madam Romano in her own city and walk away?"
"Screw you, Matteo," the man spat, blood bubbling between his teeth. "The old man is dead! Carmela has no blood claim to the syndicate! Marcus has the council! When he takes the chair, every Romano loyalist will hang from the bridges!"
"An interesting theory," Matteo replied smoothly. He signaled the operative behind him. "Bag them. Take them to the foundry. Madam Romano will want to conduct the interview personally."
The two men were hauled out of my shattered apartment like sacks of dirty laundry. Within moments, the hallway was silent again.
Matteo turned to Toby and me. He pulled an envelope from his interior pocket and laid it gently on the counter.
"Your home is burned, Miss Riley," Matteo said. "Vane's scouts knew this address. Within an hour, more will come. You and your brother have five minutes to pack whatever medicines and essentials you require."
"Pack for where?" I demanded, my protective instincts flaring through the shock. "Who are you people? What kind of war did I get dragged into?"
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"The kind where neutrality gets you buried in an unmarked grave," Matteo said, his voice entirely devoid of malice, carrying only cold, unvarnished truth. "Madam Romano has extended her personal protection to you and your brother. In our world, an invitation from the Madam is not an offer. It is salvation."
***
