The shadows moved swiftly, merging with the dark expanse of the sky like ink spreading across a page. Rhys opened his eyes, immediately attuned to the faint disturbance beyond the windows. His sharp instincts had never failed him. Through the faint moonlight, he spotted the silhouettes, their movements calculated and silent.
Turning his head slightly, he saw Andy already in position near the door, his figure barely discernible in the shadows. Andy gave a small nod, his lips curling into a grim smile that spoke of readiness and anticipation. Rhys responded with a nod of his own, then glanced down at Lia, her soft breaths steady and peaceful. She lay naked next to him, her body partially uncovered by the silken sheets that had slipped down during the night.
Carefully, he reached over and adjusted the covers, concealing her delicate form. With tender precision, he turned her so her face pressed into his chest, shielding her from the inevitable chaos. Cupping her ears with his large hand, he whispered, "I'm here, Lia. Don't worry."
The tranquility shattered. Groans pierced the night, followed by muffled thuds. Silenced gunfire. The attackers had come prepared, but so had Rhys and Andy. They always were.
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FLASHBACK
"We need to prepare. Tonight is critical," Rhys had said earlier that evening, pacing in his study while Andy leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.
"You think they'll stop by, Padrino?" Andy's smirk was half-amused, half-eager. He lived for nights like these, the thrill of danger coursing through his veins like a drug.
Rhys paused, pinning Andy with a sharp gaze. "I know they will. They've been sloppy, leaving traces, and they're desperate now. Desperation breeds mistakes."
Andy's smirk widened. "Good. I'll make the preparations."
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Andy had set everything in place. Knockout gas, strategically placed flashbangs, and concealed defensive positions. If the attackers thought they had the element of surprise, they were dead wrong.
***************************************************************************
PRESENT
A sudden burst of light flooded the grounds as the flashbangs detonated, followed by a hissing sound as the knockout gas dispersed. The air filled with panicked groans and muffled curses as shadows stumbled and fell. Andy moved like a predator, his gun silent but deadly as bodies crumpled around him.
Back in the room, Rhys adjusted Lia's position one last time, pulling a silk sleep mask over her eyes to shield her from the flickering lights outside. With a sigh, he peeled away from her warm body, sitting on the edge of the bed. Grabbing a cigarette from the nightstand, he lit it with practised ease. The first drag calmed him, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. Another thud. Another groan. Andy was handling business efficiently, as expected.
Rhys stood, the duvet falling away to reveal his lean, muscular frame, and firm naked butt. He reached for his robe, tying it loosely around his waist before stepping out onto the terrace. The night air was thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood. Below, Andy was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the remaining attackers. His movements were a blur of precision—dodging, striking, disarming. One masked man lunged with a knife, only for Andy to twist his arm and send him sprawling into the pool with a sickening crack.
Within minutes, silence fell over the estate. Andy was dragging bodies toward the pool, a grim efficiency in his actions. Rhys descended the steps, his cigarette still dangling between his lips, the glow of its ember casting an eerie light on his chiseled features.
"Fifteen," Andy announced, his voice steady despite the exertion. "All accounted for."
Rhys exhaled a plume of smoke, shaking his head in disdain. "Fifteen?" His voice dripped with contempt. "That's all they sent? To take me down?"
Andy smirked, wiping his hands on a rag. "Guess they still don't get the memo about who you are, Padrino."
Rhys stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the lifeless bodies. "This is an insult," he muttered, taking another drag. "They just love underestimate me don't they?." His dark eyes locked onto Andy. "Are you sure this is all of them?"
"Sixteen," Andy corrected, jerking his thumb toward a bound figure slumped against a tree. "One's still breathing. Thought we could use him for information."
Rhys's lips curled into a cold smile. "Good. Find out who sent them. Which branch of the family had the audacity to try this." He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel. "Make it quick. We're leaving soon."
Andy nodded, already heading toward the captive. Rhys turned back toward the house, his thoughts shifting to Lia. He wanted her as far away from this chaos as possible. Stepping into the bedroom, he found her still sound asleep, the faint rise and fall of her chest soothing his frayed nerves.
Andy returned a short while later, his hands smeared with blood. "He squealed," he announced. "They're from the Valenti branch. Higher-tier enforcers. They've been promised a hefty payout for your head."
Rhys's jaw tightened. "Valenti." He almost laughed. "Hmmm Seyi's overstepped. That little power must be sipping and steaming so much in his head."
"What's the plan?" Andy asked, already anticipating the answer.
Rhys glanced out the window, the horizon tinged with the first light of dawn. "We send a message," he said, his voice low and lethal. "Burn the bodies. Leave the survivor. Make sure he's found. They need to understand I am not so easy and fragile to take down."
Andy grinned. "Consider it done."
As Andy set to work, Rhys returned to Lia, sitting beside her on the bed. She stirred slightly, her lips parting in a soft sigh. Rhys leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead.
"Sleep, mia cara," he murmured. "You're safe."
Outside, the flames roared to life, consuming the evidence of the night's violence. The lone survivor, bloodied and terrified, was left tied to a tree with a single message carved into the wood beside him:
"You need to try harder if you want the position of Padrino, and my head."
As the sun rose, casting golden light over the estate, Rhys stood at the window, Lia nestled against him. The world would know soon enough that Rhys was not a man to be trifled with. And those who dared to challenge him would meet the same fate—or worse.
***************************************************************************
As soon as Lia stepped inside, the house felt eerie, the kind of stillness that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. A shiver ran down her spine, and she hugged herself, her fingertips brushing over the bruises Rhys had left—evidence of their passionate time together. The past few nights in his presence had erased her nightmares, wrapping her in a cocoon of safety she hadn't felt in years. But now, alone in this cold, silent house, unease prickled her skin.
She carefully shut the door, holding her breath as if even the sound of the lock clicking might draw unwanted attention. She wasn't in the mood for questions or idle chatter. She wasn't in the mood for anything except collapsing into bed. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest. Rhys had dropped her off with a rare softness in his tone, telling her to rest. He'd promised to return as soon as possible. The way he looked at her before driving away had set her heart racing—a dangerous distraction she was looking to accommodate.
The living room yawned before her, dim and foreboding. Where was everyone? She hesitated, straining her ears, but the house remained unnervingly quiet. Deciding not to linger, she darted up the staircase, her steps light but hurried. Once inside her room, she locked the door, exhaling in relief.
Pulling out her phone, she powered it on. Rhys had finally deemed it safe for her to reconnect. As soon as the screen flickered to life, a barrage of missed calls and messages poured in. Her stomach tightened when she saw the name attached to every notification: Ry. Before she could open any of the messages, an incoming call flashed across the screen. Her thumb hesitated, then pressed accept.
"Oh my God, so you're alive?" Ry's voice burst through the receiver, a chaotic mix of relief and exasperation. "I thought aliens had abducted you, or—" he gasped dramatically, "maybe you joined a cult!"
Lia burst into laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She'd forgotten how much she missed his ridiculous antics.
"Yeah, yeah," Ry grumbled, though a smile was evident in his tone. "Good to know you're laughing while I've been losing sleep. So," he paused, his voice softening, "where the hell have you been?"
Lia drew in a long, shaky breath. "It's… a long story, Ry. One you probably won't believe."
"Try me," he replied, his curiosity piqued.
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Elsewhere
Rhys leaned casually against his sleek car, the cherry glow of his cigarette punctuating the darkness. His crisp, tailored trousers and immaculate shirt did little to soften the lethal energy radiating off him. He looked relaxed, almost nonchalant like a man who owned the night and knew it.
"Well?" he drawled, taking a slow drag. "You called me here. Start talking."
Alex stepped out of his vehicle, a commanding presence in a casual yet deliberate ensemble. His silver hair gleamed under the moonlight, and his polished walking stick struck the ground with an authoritative thud. Despite his age, his posture was straight, his demeanour intimidating.
"Is that any way to speak to your father?" Alex's tone was mild, but his sharp eyes assessed Rhys, his tone cool yet firm.
Rhys scoffed, exhaling smoke in a thin stream remaining unfazed, his dark eyes locked on the older man. "You're wasting my time." He extinguished his cigarette underfoot. "Now, tell me what you know about Mom and Pearl."
The words hung heavy in the air. Alex studied his son—a younger, angrier reflection of himself—and measured his response carefully. "Jennifer sends her regards," Alex said, testing the waters.
Rhys's jaw ticked, but his voice remained ice-cold. "And why should I care?" Rhys retorted, his tone colder than the night air.
Alex sighed, shifting his weight. "You're acting like a petulant teenager," Alex countered. "There's more to what happened than you know."
Rhys's patience snapped. "I didn't come here to talk about your mistress-turned-wife. If you have nothing worthwhile to say about Mom and Pearl, we're done here." His tone was final, his expression unreadable.
Alex hesitated, the weight of years of estrangement pressing on him. He'd failed Rhys as a father, and they both knew it.
"When Mary and Pearl…" He faltered. "When the accident happened, I wasn't there. I regret that every day."
"Regret doesn't bring them back," Rhys said flatly, getting into his car ready to leave.
Desperate, Alex reached into his coat and pulled out a thick folder. He knocked on Rhys's car window, holding it up. The younger man paused, his eyes narrowing at the gesture. Reluctantly, he rolled the window down.
"This," Alex said, handing him the folder, "might answer the questions you've been wanting answered."I know it's late," Alex said, his voice quieter now, tinged with remorse. "But I'm sorry."
Rhys flipped through the pages, his expression darkening. Finally, he looked up, his eyes like flint. "It's too late, Alex. If you're looking for redemption, try finding it in their graves." He shifted into gear and roared off into the night, leaving Alex standing alone in the swirling dust. Alex watched the car disappear, a resigned look on his face. He had gambled on this meeting and lost. Whatever fragile thread still connected him to his son seemed irreparably severed.
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Elsewhere
"What?" Seyi's voice cracked with fury, his face pale with fear. "Those idiots couldn't take down one guy?"
He paced the length of his opulent office, his usually sharp demeanor unraveling. The man on the other end of the line stammered an excuse, but Seyi cut him off.
"Victor swore they were lethal combatants! How the hell do lethal combatants end up dead?" He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the crystal decanter of whiskey.
"Rhys won't let this slide," he muttered, his hands trembling. "He's coming. He'll find me. I can't—" He stopped, breathing hard.
"Spread the word," he barked at his men. "I don't care how many it takes. I want Rhys dead, and I want his body dragged here. A fortune to whoever kills him."
The men scattered their haste a testament to Seyi's rising panic. Once alone, he sank into his chair, gripping the armrests until his knuckles turned white. Rhys wasn't just a man. He was a storm, and Seyi had just painted a target on himself.
"Fucking idiots," he muttered under his breath, but the words rang hollow. Deep down, he knew the truth: Rhys was coming for him.
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The Next Day
Andy paced back and forth in his office, the file Rhys had sent him clutched tightly in his hand. He couldn't stop glancing at it, as if the words inside might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying. But they didn't.
He flipped it open again, his eyes scanning the pages. Each line felt like a punch to the gut. The idea that the "accident" that had taken Rhys' mother and baby sister might have been a cold-blooded, premeditated act was something Andy couldn't shake.
"Damn it, " Andy muttered under his breath, slamming the file onto his desk. He knew his Padrino's volatile nature better than anyone. Rhys wasn't the type to forgive—or to wait. This revelation would ignite a firestorm, one that would burn anyone who got in his way.
Andy snatched his phone off the desk and dialed.
"Padrino," Andy said as soon as the call connected, his voice tense.
"Do you have something for me?" Rhys' voice came through, sharp and cold.
"I'm working on it," Andy replied, swallowing hard. "But this...this is bigger than we thought. If what's in these files is true—"
"It is," Rhys interrupted. His voice carried the weight of certainty, of a man who had already decided the course of action. "And I want names. Locations. Every single person who had a hand in this."
Andy hesitated. "Padrino, this isn't just about revenge anymore. This could turn into an all-out war. The Morretti Clan is involved. which makes this all the more dangerous."
"Well I guess it's high time someone dealt with them too," Rhys said coldly. "I want results in six hours. No excuses."
The line went dead before Andy could respond.
Andy stared at the phone, his mind racing. He pressed a button on the speakerphone on his desk.
"Get me the intel team," he barked. "I want every shred of information on the Morretti clan and their operations. Associates, locations, financials—everything. You've got six hours."
"Yes, sir," came the hurried reply.
Andy leaned against the desk, running a hand through his hair. A storm was brewing, one that would tear the city apart. He could feel it in his bones.