Chapter 13

NO ONE MESSES WITH THE CARLO'S

Pov: Carmela Carlo

The cold night was still, but I could hear my heartbeat as if it echoed off the walls of the abandoned warehouse.

We'd been watching the Scarpone crew for weeks. Nicky Scarpone was getting bold-too bold. He thought the Carlo name had softened since Tony died. Thought I was just some grieving sister in red lipstick playing boss. Thought wrong.

The intel came from Gino. He'd tracked one of Scarpone's lieutenants moving crates through Pier 17-a black-market arms shipment meant for a buyer out in Florida. Tonight, was the drop-off. And tonight, we'd send a message.

I stood outside the warehouse with three of my most trusted-Gino, Arturo, and Rosa. All black-clad, each armed with a silencer and combat knife. No mess. No noise. No witnesses. Just the way I liked it.

I didn't believe in long speeches before blood. Just sharp orders.

"Gino, take the west entrance. Arturo, with me. Rosa, you cover the alley and wait for my signal." My voice was low, calm.

"What about the lookout on the roof?" Arturo asked.

I pulled my hair into a tight ponytail and slid a knife into my boot. "Already handled."

He raised a brow but didn't ask. They all knew better. I had handled him ten minutes ago with a rope and a silent prayer.

The plan was surgical. We strike hard, fast, leave one man alive just long enough to deliver the message. Then nothing but shadows.

I signaled with two fingers, and we moved.

The warehouse stank of oil and old metal. I could hear voices inside-maybe five or six men. Laughter. Confidence. That would die first.

Arturo and I moved through the side corridor, staying low. I peeked through the cracked steel door. Two guards-both holding rifles, talking about women. One turned, bored, and walked toward the far end.

I slid the door open and struck.

Knife to the gut, twist, silence. Arturo followed up, snapping the neck of the second before he could shout. We dragged them behind some crates.

The next room was wider, lit with hanging bulbs that cast long shadows. Four men. One seated, checking a ledger. Two unloading crates. One with a pistol, sipping coffee.

I could hear Gino's muffled shot from the west wing. Good. Phase two.

I stepped out from the shadow.

"Evening, boys."

They froze.

"Big C?" the one with the pistol gasped. "No fu***in' way-"

Two shots from Arturo. One down. The man with the ledger reached for something-too slow. I threw the knife straight into his shoulder, pinning him to the wall.

The other two ran. I took off after them, boots pounding the metal floor. One tried to exit through the back-Rosa's bullet found his chest. The last turned, swung a crowbar at me.

I ducked under the arc and slammed into his ribs. He grunted, swung again-this time I caught his wrist, twisted until it cracked, then jammed my elbow into his throat.

He fell, choking.

I pulled my knife from the first man's shoulder. Blood dripped down my glove.

I walked to the man Arturo had only wounded-Scarpone's main runner, Marco.

"Big C..." he coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "I was just doing my job..."

"You delivered a message to my father last week," I said coldly. "Said Scarpone wanted our Harlem rackets. Said if I didn't hand them over, I'd end up like Tony."

Marco's eyes widened.

I crouched beside him.

"I'm going to return the favor. Tell Scarpone this: the Carlo family doesn't negotiate with rats."

Then I stood and turned to Rosa. "Give him the mark."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crimson silk ribbon-the Carlo family's symbol of vengeance.

She tied it to Marco's wrist.

Let him crawl back, bloodied, bruised, and broken.

Let him tell them the devil wears heels now.

We burned the crates. Didn't matter if they were full of guns or ghost stories-no one would get them now.

The smell of smoke clung to my leather jacket as we walked out. I stared up at the black sky, breathing in the weight of another successful job.

But it didn't feel like victory. Not completely.

I kept thinking about Tony. He would've loved this kind of night. Fast, brutal, final. He always said I was too careful, too calculating. I used to laugh and call him reckless.

But when he died-when they dumped his body outside our family villa in Florence-it was my caution that kept us alive.

I took over. I became what he never thought I could be.

And tonight, I'd proven again that the Carlo name still meant blood and fear.

But something tugged at my chest.

I turned to Rosa. "You ever wonder if we're just becoming what they said we'd be?"

She frowned. "We are what they said we'd be. The difference is, they didn't think we'd survive it.

I nodded slowly. "Right."

Back at the estate, I cleaned my knife in the marble sink, watching the water run red, then clear.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

It was Arturo. "Shipment's confirmed destroyed. No witnesses. Marco made it out, bleeding and terrified."

"Good."

"There's one more thing."

He held out a manila envelope. I opened it.

Photos. Xavier.

At the port. Loading boxes. Sweating, serious, alert. But clean. Efficient. The kind of man who didn't ask questions-but always noticed everything.

Arturo said, "He handled the shipment well. No signs of doubt. He followed every order like he'd been doing this for years."

" Yes, he did, and he didn't look scared" I asked.

"No. Just... focused."

I studied the final photo. Xavier, walking away from the truck, jaw tight, hands dirty, but head held high.

He didn't belong in this world-but he walked through it like he might one day.

Interesting.

Pov: Xavier Brookes

I sat in the back of the kitchen van, my hands still sticky from the rope ties. My shirt clung to me from sweat, and my chest ached from hauling crates meant for men who wouldn't think twice about pulling a gun on someone like me.

But I'd done it.

I'd handled my first real mafia job. No kitchen. No sauce. Just steel and secrets.

I kept picturing my mother's smile. Amanda Brooks, laughing through the chemo sessions, saying I always found a way.

This was the way now.

I told myself I was doing it for her. That this was temporary. That Carmela would keep her word.

And still, when I'd locked eyes with one of the guards before he vanished into the shadows, I knew-I wasn't just in the deep end anymore.

I was swimming with sharks.

And Carmela Carlo?

She was the biggest one of them all.