Chapter Six: Web of Lies
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The De Luca villa felt quieter than usual — but not peaceful.
Matteo sat in the library, the doors cracked open, the sound of rain tapping lightly against the windows. Around him, the scent of old paper and leather filled the air. His father’s favorite room — the one place Antonio De Luca had kept for himself, away from soldiers, lieutenants, and the steady drum of power.
Matteo rested his elbows on the desk, hands steepled under his chin, his eyes fixed on the list of names Sandro Vitale had given him.
Three names were already crossed off.
That left four — and one was Marco. Dead.
The others? Still walking the halls of this house, still eating at this table, still laughing, still pretending.
Someone in this house had opened the gates to the enemy.
And Matteo was running out of time.
A soft knock broke his thoughts.
Giulia slipped in, shaking off her coat, hair damp from the rain. She moved without ceremony, planting herself in the chair across from him.
“I talked to a contact in the prosecutor’s office,” she said, flipping open her notebook. “You have a rat in your ranks. Probably more than one.”
Matteo raised an eyebrow, lips twitching in faint amusement. “Good evening to you, too.”
Giulia leaned forward. “This isn’t a game, Matteo. The police have been tipped off about your port operations, your trucks, your shipments. Someone on the inside is bleeding your house dry.”
Matteo’s amusement faded.
Giulia hesitated. “You need to know… they’re watching Enzo.”
Matteo’s chest tightened. “Enzo?”
“He’s been moving his own shipments through the port — separately. Hiding things from you.”
Matteo stood slowly, pushing back from the desk, the chair legs scraping over the rug.
Downstairs, the mood was sharp with tension.
Men huddled near the fireplace, voices low. Lucia sat in her usual armchair, knitting — her calm presence a deliberate mask. And Enzo? Enzo lounged at the bar, laughing too loudly with two of his men, a drink in hand.
Matteo crossed the room, every step measured, controlled.
“Enzo,” he murmured.
His cousin turned, grin wide. “Cugino! Come, have a drink. You need to learn how to relax.”
Matteo smiled thinly. “Step outside with me.”
Enzo’s eyes flickered — just a flicker — before he chuckled and followed.
The courtyard was slick with rain, the fountain overflowing, the scent of wet earth thick in the air.
Matteo turned, his face calm. “Why didn’t you tell me about the shipments?”
Enzo leaned casually against the stone wall, lighting a cigarette. “Because not everything needs to run across your desk, cousin.”
Matteo’s voice sharpened. “It does now.”
Enzo smirked, exhaling smoke. “Look at you. Giving orders. Playing Don.”
In one fast, violent motion, Matteo shoved Enzo back against the wall, his forearm pressed hard against his throat.
The cigarette fell, hissing into a puddle.
“I’m not playing,” Matteo whispered.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the rain.
Then Enzo gave a slow, dangerous smile. “You’d better be ready to finish what you start.”
Matteo released him roughly, stepping back.
Enzo straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair, and laughed softly. “Careful, Matteo. The house has ears.”
Back in the study, Matteo found Giulia still waiting, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
“You were right,” Matteo said quietly.
Giulia looked up sharply. “What are you going to do?”
Matteo sank into his chair, shoulders heavy.
“Not what my father would’ve done,” he murmured. “But something better.”
Giulia searched his face. “You still think you can change the game?”
Matteo’s eyes were tired, but his mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.
“I have to.”
That night, long after the house had gone still, Matteo sat alone at his father’s desk, the firelight flickering across his face.
From a locked drawer, he pulled out the revolver — the engraved Colt .45 his father had once carried.
He ran his thumb over the worn grip, feeling the cold weight settle in his palm.
This house was a nest of vipers.
And Matteo De Luca was done waiting to be bitten.
- Writer
