Bartolomeo Ship Novels & Stories

“Are you sure about this?” She met his gaze, her voice steady. “I’m done playing defense. It’s time Romano starts running.” Naples, Italy – The Attack on the Shipment The Naples port was quiet at night, but Isabella knew better. Beneath the calm exterior, Romano’s men were everywhere. She adjusted the earpiece. “Dante, are you in position?” Dante’s voice came through. “Locked and loaded. Say the word, and I make it rain fire.”

I knew exactly what he meant. Three nights ago, my shipment the one moving through the port of Salerno was ambushed. Not by the police. Not by a rival family. By someone from inside. My men were burned alive, the docks left in ashes. Thirty men gone in one night. Whoever did it wasn’t just sending a message. They were starting a war. Don Alberto’s gaze lingered on me. “The Mancini shipment was sacred. No one was supposed to touch it. Yet thirty of our men now lie dead. That cannot stand.”

The empire outside was cracking, but the fracture inside their throne room was more dangerous still. A sharp knock broke the tension. Matteo, their most loyal lieutenant, entered cautiously. His face was pale, jaw tight with unease. “My king, my queen,” he said, bowing his head. “There’s been… news.” Dante’s voice was a growl. “Speak.” Matteo hesitated. “One of our shipments was intercepted at the docks. Not by Viktor. By someone else.” Amara’s brow furrowed. “Someone else?” Matteo nodded grimly. “They left a message carved into the crates. A single word.”

Archie turned to the others excited. “It’s okay everyone,” Archie said. “It's a marine ship from King Gerald’s fort. My brother commands a few. They wouldn’t attack a civilian ship without cause.” Archie’s statement doesn’t ease the tension within the group as they continue to prepare. “Well, do they know that?” Micah asked, keeping his eye on the ship’s fast approach.

“Fine! Gotta go. Teacher Mary’s coming!” The line cut off. I exhaled and smacked my cheeks with both hands. It helped me focus on my predicament. With arms crossed, I watched the barge swaying gently on the waves. Its massive gray structure was just as my father once described—the Kulbahinam Barge, a large vessel with twelve passenger cabins, forty double decks, and too many weathered plastic chairs bolted to the deck. It belonged to the Garcia family, a shipping empire. Father used to work for them when he was alive.

Marco stood near the security panel, still scanning the failed systems, but even he had slowed down, attention split between the screen and the tension building between us. I broke it first. “What does she mean by that?” Alessio’s gaze didn’t leave the message. “I don’t know.” That answer was rare. And it made my chest tighten more than if he had lied. Because Alessio only admitted uncertainty when it mattered. When it couldn’t be controlled. Marco cleared his throat carefully. “Boss, the Bratva channels just spiked again.” That pulled Alessio back into focus immediately. “Status.” “Two more Romano shipments hit along the coastal route. Same pattern as before. It’s coordinated.”

Originating in the Dutch Republic in the 16th century, the vessel was designed to facilitate transoceanic delivery with the maximum of space and crew efficiency. So during one of their first few nights in the vast open water, Nero saw, or imagined he saw, a vessel standing for them under a press of sail, as though it would run them down. Luna in particular affirmed that it was the ship that once sank due to a storm, and that it must certainly be it, or at least it was its the apparition. According from what she heard, there was once a ship that was lost off the {Cape of Good Hope, change the name}, and every soul on board perished. Wasting no time, the cats approached their masters to report

His eyes narrowed. “Carlos,” he muttered, before stepping away to answer. The call was brief. His silence when he returned said enough. “The La Mano Roja’s attacked our shipment at the seaport,” he said grimly. “Dozens of our men are dead.” The air thickened instantly. Mikhail’s jaw locked. “We’ll return to Italy in five days,” he said through clenched teeth. “Dimitri and the others can handle cleanup. But this means one thing—the La Mano Rojas are back. And this time, they’re not hiding.”

“Talk.” He hesitated. “One of our captains — the Sorrenti crew out of Naples — flipped.” “To who?” Luca asked. Mateo’s jaw clenched. “We're not sure. But two of our intel are dead, and someone leaked the coordinates of our cargo ship in the Adriatic. It was hit an hour ago. Sunk.” Amara’s face didn’t change. “How many casualties?” “Ten. Including the captain.” Her silence was louder than a scream.

Arturo thought he had arranged everything perfectly and that he could quietly send Avelina away without anyone noticing. But he forgot that the Brunetti Famiglia had eyes and ears all over Marinella. His every move—the ship's route and departure time—had already been discovered. They were just waiting for the right moment to take them all down in one fell swoop. Less than two hours after the ship—with Avelina on it—left the port, several speedboats suddenly surrounded them from all sides.